


the air near my fingers

by ABadPlanWellExecuted, helplesslynerdy



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Adaptation, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-07
Updated: 2015-03-07
Packaged: 2018-01-07 20:46:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 55,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1124214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ABadPlanWellExecuted/pseuds/ABadPlanWellExecuted, https://archiveofourown.org/users/helplesslynerdy/pseuds/helplesslynerdy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The TARDIS has crashed, the Doctor is missing, and Rose is alone in the dark.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. dead leaves and the dirty ground

It is silent.

…

…

_(Don’t let go we’re going to crash did they see your face it's on firesmokesparksmetalbloodpaindirtsilence.)_

_…_

It is silent, but for the ringing.

And one ragged, strangled breath tasting of blood and rot.

With effort, Rose rolls over, and the movement smothers the sirens; the press of her back to the world draws oblivion up and over her like a blanket, and she disappears.

…

…

When reality intrudes once more, it comes with pomp and circumstance, with a fanfare of pain and a choir of aches and cold and…damp.

It’s all very damp.

Shivering, she cracks opens her eyes, sticky and hot, but it is much too dark to see anything.  The pain in her head is obscene—a great, towering villain, lording itself over all the other, lesser pains in her body that are fighting to make themselves known, and she shuts her eyes again.

Just rest.  Sleep.

She has no idea where she is.

As soon as that thought intrudes into her consciousness, her body contorts, muscles fibers firing, and she flails, clutching at the ground.  Leaves crunch and crackle in her hands, twigs snap as she sits up. 

_Outside._   That much she can tell, can feel in the rough, damp dirt beneath the leaves.  She is outside.

_But where is the Doctor?_

The magnitude of that question hits her right in the gut, and she doubles over, retching.  Vomiting leaves her lightheaded, and the world spins in the darkness as she staggers drunkenly to her feet.  Once she can stop gagging, she tries calling out. 

“Doctor?”  Her voice is rasping and weak.  “Doctor?”

There is no answer. 

How did she even get here?  Rose tries to remember what set of events led to this moment in time, but all she can recall is that they had been together somewhere and then something about a family or hunters and…  And then nothing.

The deep velvet black of the night doesn’t yield up any information—Rose can’t even see her hand in front of her face.  But she is here, so surely the TARDIS must be close by.  She casts about, feeling in the dark frantically for a sign of the ship or the Doctor.  The footing is treacherous, and she trips over the underbrush.  Staggering forward, she bangs a shin against the edge of a wooden panel.

The TARDIS.  Ignoring the pain in her leg, she stretches out a hand, trying to map its surface.  She can feel the wooden exterior, hotter than it should be and smelling faintly of smoke, but that’s all right, it’ll be alright, she’ll find the Doctor, and…

Her fingertips meet the door handle, but not where she expects it to be.  It is still there, still connected to the door, but it is too low and strangely slanted.  Tugging on it does nothing—it is sealed tight.  She finds the door seam and traces it up, following the unnatural angle all the way up to the windows, and walks face-first into a branch.

The pain of the contact is overwhelming, enough to make her bend and retch against the side of the ship.  Panting, she wipes her mouth and mutters an apology to the TARDIS—nothing like booting on the side of a living timeship.  Once she recovers, Rose makes her way, more cautiously now, around the other side of the ship, feeling for its base.  She finds it, tilting out of the earth and underbrush, and there’s no doubt anymore.

The TARDIS has crashed.

The obviousness of this conclusion flutters through her mind, but she is too tired and dizzy to wrap her head around it.  The only thoughts that she can hold on to are that the Doctor isn’t here and she needs to find help.

She tries shouting his name once more, but her voice is hardly more than a wheezy croak, and anyway, there’s no one here to hear her.  She reaches out but there’s no one there to take her hand.  She needs to find the Doctor.

She needs to find him.

She needs to…

Her feet start walking, stumbling down the slight downhill slope, the path of least resistance.  The terrain is rough, and she half-shambles, using her arms to navigate her way through the underbrush.

At one point, the angle of the slope increases, and she slips down the muddy incline, sliding over the wet leaves and landing in a pile at the bottom.  She lies there for a long while, dazed.

She is terribly, terribly thirsty.

It is enough to get her up again, keep her moving.  She has to walk, has to find something to drink.  That’s what she’s searching for, isn’t it?

Keep walking.

She drifts in and out of awareness as she stumbles along.  The underbrush is particularly thick in places, and she’s forced to push her way through, bushes and thorny vines tearing at her clothes. 

Without warning, she falls forward and plunges into cold water.

Instinct kicks in; her flailing legs and arms find purchase on the rocky riverbed, and she gets her head above water.  The river pulls her, tugging at her hair and clothes, but it’s not deep enough or strong enough to force her downstream.  Gasping, she claws blindly at the rocks, coughing up mouthfuls of water.  Her chest is still aching from the smoke, and the intrusion of water into her lungs is like a knife slashing with every spasm. 

Bracing her feet against the bottom, she manages to haul herself upright.  It’s no deeper than mid-thigh, navigable at a crouch.  She moves slowly and carefully, feeling for the bank.  When her hand meets the grassy, muddy edge, she whimpers in relief.  Luck is with her—it is wide and clear of debris.  With some effort, she manages to scramble up it and then flops down on her back, wheezing from the exertion.

The fall has left her disoriented, but adrenalin is surging through her, temporarily clearing her head and blocking out the pain.  She’s been too careless, she realizes.  Staggering about in the dark like this, not paying the slightest attention to where she’s going—it’s a wonder she hasn’t fallen off a cliff.  She needs to find help, and the best bet for that is following this little river. 

Right.  Time to get going.

…

Well…maybe in just a moment.

It feels so good to lie down, to rest her aching arms and legs and head.  Following a river in the dark sounds exhausting and wet and scratchy and dangerous.  Surely it wouldn’t hurt to wait here a while, at least until her clothes dry off a little, she thinks with a tired sigh.  Just rest here, enjoying the warmth of the sun on her face.

Rose’s eyes fly open.

No.  No, that’s not the sun on her face.  It’s still dark out.  Her head is killing her, and her eyes are gritty and hideously painful, but she would definitely be able to see sunlight.  So what’s warming her face?

She tentatively feels around, and it’s not just her—the ground is warm, too.  She digs her fingers into the dirt and finds that it’s cool and wet underneath the topsoil.  So the heat source is definitely coming from above. 

Something alien?  Some evil overlord’s towering, terrible heat ray, maybe?  With effort, she calms herself, slows her breathing, and goes still and quiet.  It’s too dark to see anything, but she can still listen.  Focusing on the sound around her, she first hears the river and all its musical gurgling.  Stretching out further, she listens for anything mechanical, anything alien, anything _human_.

Nothing. 

Just the river.  No car engines or spaceship thrusters or evil heat rays.   Just the splashing noise of the water and the singing of the birds and the faint sound of wind in the trees and—

…

Wait.

Bird song. 

Yes, now that she listens for it…

The birds are singing, all around her in the forest, the birds are _singing_ , flying about and singing, just as if…

Just as if it were day.

For the first time, her fingers tentatively creep up her face, tracing the edges of the bruises and cuts until they reach the horrible swelling around the base of her eyes.  The mere thought of trying to touch her eyelids is nauseating, the pain outrageous.  But it doesn’t matter—she can feel enough to know the truth.

The world isn’t dark at all.

She just can’t see it.

 


	2. i just don't know what to do with myself

_The sky is a bright, brilliant blue. Cerulean blue, vivid and shiny and full of light, and they are slowly spiraling through it. Rose stretches as the sun comes into view and spills its light all over her skin. One leg hangs out the open TARDIS doors, dangling in midair, and she giggles at the thought of her trainer slipping off and plummeting thousands of feet to the ground. (Sprouting wings; flying through the air. Sticking out its tongue at them as it escapes into the blue yonder.)_

_One lone, lazy little cloud drifts by, and Rose wrinkles her nose. With some effort, she sticks her tongue out, blue from her lollipop, in an attempt to block out the puffy white. But it’s uncomfortable and doesn’t work very well and really, it’s better for everyone when she huffs and puffs and blows it away, leaving her nothing but a perfect sky of sunshine._

_“Amazing!” says the Doctor’s voice, from somewhere near her non-dangling knee. “Rose, you really ought to sit up. You’re missing the view of the river.”_

_“You ought to lie down,” she answered, the words clacking against the candy in her mouth. “You’re missing the view of the sky.”_

_His head appears above hers, and she can smell the cherry on his breath from his own lolli. She wonders if it stained his tongue red. If it did, then she ought to just grab him by the collar and give him a good snog—it will be red and blue all crisscrossed, like the Union Jack but with tongues. She snorts with laughter._

_“C’mon, Rose,” he coaxes, tugging at her hand, and with a groan, she flops up to take a look. The sky gives way to a long stretch of arid land with one single ribbon of green winding its way through. The Doctor slings an arm around her shoulders. “You see? Told you I could find them. Easy.”_

_He stretches out a long pinstriped leg and points with his foot to a little dark blob blooming off the side of the river—a small colony of humans. “All that space, all that land, but if you want to find the people, follow the river.”_

_Rose lays her head on his shoulder. “You think you’re so impressive,” she says, pulling the lollipop out first._

_“I am so impressive!” objects a Northern voice, and when she looks up, his eyes are lingering on her mouth._

_She sticks her tongue out at him, bright blue just like the eyes he rolls._

_“Don’t get anything sticky on the console,” he admonishes, but he doesn’t really mean it. She can tell._

_She settles back down on the grating, the whole sky her blanket. “You’re not my father.”_

_A sort-of brown voice chuckles. “No,” he says, a London accent now, as he slides his hand up her leg. “I’m not.”_

_He is leaning over her, brown eyes warm and inviting, and for all that they’re supposed to be just friends, it seems like the most natural thing in the world to arch up to kiss him. He’s just out of reach, but she can’t quite clear those last few inches; his hand is on her sternum, pushing her down._

_“Doctor,” she whispers. “Have I lost?”_

_His weight is bearing down on her chest as he moves in closer to place the words against her lips._

_“Follow the river, Rose.”_

“I am,” she mutters as she staggers along. “It’s just going in circles.”

The pain in her chest flairs, strong enough to make her momentarily lucid. The branch that she’s using as a walking stick has gotten stuck in the underbrush, and the other end is jabbing her in the ribs. She tugs it free and pauses for a moment to catch her breath and to listen for the sound of the river. 

It’s there, just off to her right, and she sighs with relief. She can’t afford to lose track of it—the river is her lifeline and her only chance of finding someone who can help her. Without it, she could wander lost in these woods forever.

Well, not _forever_ , but that is a possibility that she doesn’t want to consider. It already feels as though she’s been walking for days. 

As she grits her teeth and pushes onward, painstakingly making her way along the riverbank, she tries again to remember how she ended up in this horrible forest. 

They had been on Earth, to drop off the wash at her mum's, oh, and then they had decided to go Poosh. They’d landed and…gone for a walk? There was a building, maybe?

Her head is killing her. Her eyes are…

No. No, don’t think about that. 

Focus on trying to remember. They had gone to Poosh. Oh, and then something had happened. Something bad. The Doctor yelling, something about a family, a group of hunters, and they had to run…

A wave of nausea sweeps over her. There’s nothing left in her stomach, but it leaves her dizzy nonetheless. She clutches her stick and starts walking again.

Have to keep walking.

Have to…

And her mind drifts away into the twilight.

The next time she comes around, it is because she has tripped over log and smacked her shin against a rock. It hurts enough to make her sightless eyes water, which precipitates a whole new level of pain. Her face feels hot, feverish, and she is terribly thirsty. 

For one horrible moment, she can’t hear the river. When she manages to quiet her own frantic breathing, she hears it. It’s a ways off, though, and she shudders at the thought of losing it.

With some effort, she manages to pick her way across the rough landscape to the river’s edge. She tentatively makes her way around a small, bushy tree to a spot where she can kneel at the water’s edge. With shaking hands, she scoops up water to drink. It tastes a little earthy but not bad. 

She’s only about ninety percent sure that it actually _is_ water, but she’s not even certain which planet she’s on, so who knows? It feels like Earth—the gravity, the way the air and dirt smell, the feel of the plants, the sounds of the birds—but she knows that traveling in the TARDIS means that’s no guarantee. 

It’s terrifying. 

Even more frightening is the part of her that wants to give up, the part that wants to lie down and weep in pain and exhaustion. To go to sleep and never wake up.

No. She grits her teeth and pushes to her feet.

The Doctor must be out there, somewhere. He will find her—he can make her better. Or maybe he’s hurt and needs help. Maybe he needs her. Either way, it’s time to start walking again. For hours.

And hours. And hours. 

The temperature drops. Fever-sweat turns into an ice bath, and she shivers uncontrollably. Hours pass by in a fog. There’s nothing left to guide her, nothing to smell or hear or feel. She is lost, alone and undone, one of the empty ones on the edges of forever. 

When she finally falls, the ground is a welcoming mercy.

***

A hand. Tugging.

“Up, up, up,” a voice sing-songs.

Warmth on her face.

“Doctor,” she says. Thinks she says. 

“Bell’s ringing, time to go.” Tug, tug. A nervous laugh. “Off we go to school. Don’t want to be late.”

The words don’t make any sense, don’t settle properly in her brain, but the hand pulling her up? That she knows how to follow. With help, she staggers to her feet.

An arm creeps shyly around her waist. “Little feet, little feet, one at a time. One, two. One, two.”

Is she dancing? Late for the ball again, better blame the great big dress. Shoes pinch. Corset on too tight, and her ribs hurt.

The Doctor will make it better.

“Almost to the tiny houses,” the voice assures her.

_“Isaac! Isaac!”_

_“Who is she? What has happened?”_

Hands supporting her. Voices, filled with alarm. 

_“Oh my, she’s in a bad way.”_

_“Isaac found her, near the edge of the forest!”_

_“Was it them? Are they coming?”_

_“Someone fetch the doctor!”_

Noise and confusion. Under her feet, the turf changes from grass to hard-packed dirt.

A man’s voice, close by, speaking urgently and low. “Where did you come from? How did you get here?”

“The Doctor,” she mutters. “I need the Doctor.”

Someone, a woman, assures her, “We’ll bring him, don’t you worry.”

_“Quickly, take her to Miss Redfern!”_

She starts to fade again as she is helped up a few steps, creaky and wooden. All around her, voices are talking talking talking. Then gentler hands guide her, bring her into a room smelling of smoke and beeswax, and the noise fades away. 

“The Doctor,” she tries to say.

“He’s coming,” says a quiet voice close by. “I am Miss Redfern, his assistant. Mary…”

“Yes, ma’am,” a girl’s voice answers.

“Fetch me hot water from the kettle and a flannel, please. We must get her cleaned up before he arrives.”

Footsteps moving away. The hands begin to remove the ragged remains of her clothing, and Rose is too tired to resist. The footsteps return, and there’s a gasp—someone’s frightened.

“S’alright,” Rose slurs, half-awake. “It’ll be alright.”

“The bruises! Miss Redfern, she’s black and blue!”

“That’s enough, Mary. Go fetch a second pail and then come help hold her up. Quick, now!”

Carefully, gingerly, she is bathed, the mud and grime painstakingly washed away. She cries out when they wipe the flannel over her ribs. When it is brought up to her face, she shrieks and fights and has to be held to a chair in a tight grip while her eyes are cleaned. 

Once it is done, she sits and weeps brokenly. “There now, there now,” the quiet voice soothes while another pair of hands wraps her still-filthy hair up in a cloth. Something is pulled over her head—a nightgown, rough and starchy. 

“Lie down now,” the woman’s voice directs softly. “Mary will bring you a little water. The doctor’s just washing up, but he’ll be here in a moment.”

When the cup is brought to her lips, she drinks. Swallowing, she hears low voices just outside the room. And one of them is…

“Doctor,” she cries, sitting up and stretching out a hand as relief rushes through her. “Doctor.” 

Footsteps. Miss Redfern is speaking. “She seems to be looking for you in particular. Her face is quite injured, but…do you recognize her?”

There is a long moment of silence, and then the voice speaks, so familiar that her fingers stretch in anticipation. “No.” There is a heavy pause. His name dies on her lips. “No, I don’t believe I’ve ever seen her before.”

Her fingers desperately grasp at the air once before her hand falls limply to her side. A buzzing fills her ears.

Why is the bed wobbling?

Her stomach protests the movement, and she starts to dry heave.

_"Oh- she's about to go d--"_


	3. girl, you have no faith in medicine

Whistling. The tune is familiar but too cheery.

Rose’s eyelids flutter open to…nothing. She tries to sit up and sucks in a breath. Her head feels like it has been held in a vice. With the sharp pain has come clarity, however. More than she’s had since she woke up in this nightmare.

The Doctor is here, but says he doesn’t remember her.

The soft clip of heels pass her, and the whistling stops. “Oh, you’re awake.” The voice that sounds like…Miss Redfern breezes in. “I’ll go fetch the doctor for you.”

Her voice sounded American, now that she thought about it. They must have crashed somewhere in the States. She knows she needs to wait until she and the Doctor are alone before questioning him. Something must be terribly wrong.

A familiar voice starts from another room and nears hers. “Ah! The mysterious girl awakes.” She worries the frayed sleeve of her nightgown to keep from reaching out to him again. “You have had the entire village quite beside itself. Not many visitors around these parts. Especially ones that seem to know of me!”

”Sorry. Must have mixed you up with someone else. My head is a little muddled.”

“Of course. It is to be expected.” She can’t help how her head cocks to the side. His voice sounds so affected, so stilted. “I am going to examine you now, Miss-?”

“T-tyler.” Her eyes slide shut. She knew better than to use her own name.

"Miss Tyler." He rolls the name around slowly, but quickly asks, "Do you remember anything of what happened to you?"

If the hunters were still after them, she didn’t want them to find the crashed TARDIS. No telling if the ship was capable of protecting herself. “No. I just woke up and couldn’t see. Was in a lot of pain.”

“But you do remember your name. If there is amnesia, at least it is limited.” Rose hears the creak of the floorboards near the bed she is on. “Nurse Redfern here will be tending to your other injuries as they are not as severe. I will be as gentle as possible, but I need to examine your eyes now that you’re up and can move them for me. Nurse Redfern, could you go and get my herbal kit, please?” Rose hears the rustle of cloth and a door opening and shutting as the nurse leaves the room.

She relaxes. They are finally alone. Need to find out why the Doctor is putting on the act.

She feels his cool fingertips tilt her face up. “Keep still. Didn’t get a chance to check your head as thoroughly as I needed.” He pulls her hair free of the cloth, hands are now probing her scalp. She flinches as he finds a particular tender spot. “Ah. Contusion. You most likely have concussed your brain. I was told you were found passed out in the woods. If you came out of that, I knew that we need not worry about you sleeping. Got to let the synapses heal. Actually, we should probably get you some tea…”

His fingers glide towards her face again, stopping near the edges of her eyes. She flinches back, anticipating the pain.

“I am sorry. I am so sorry, but I need to see if your eyes are permanently damaged.” She bites her lip as his fingers lift to pull back her eyelids. She clenches the quilt covering her lap in her fists, her entire body trembling. She tries to stifle her whimpers. He is mercifully quick, and his hands leave her face as she feels his weight shift away from the bed.

“Well, Miss Tyler, it seems as if your face was burned. Your eyes look undamaged, but that is not the case for the surrounding tissue.”

She swallows. “How bad?”

Taking her hand, he again sits on her bed. “It will heal. But you will probably have scars.”

Her chest constricts. How would she explain this to her mum? She dreads the answer to the next question, but she has to know. “And m-my sight?”

His hand lightly squeezes hers, but not in their familiar way- more with a detached sympathy. “That I am not sure of. Since it seems like the eye itself was undamaged, it might be a result of your concussion. But there is no way for me to gauge whether it will come back or not.”

She feels herself nodding, but her mind is running rampant.

Why hasn’t he assured her of their situation? Where’s the sonic? He would have scanned her the second that the nurse had left the room. Since the Cassandra escapade, they had always used memories or inside jokes as a check for possession or danger. Most consciousnesses could only access surface thoughts, not long-term memories. But today wasn’t a time to kid.

“Doctor?”

“Yes?”

“The very first word you ever said to me, such a long time ago, what was it?”

Silence.

His hand slowly slips from hers.

She can’t get air into her lungs.

“I’m sure you’re terrified, Miss Tyler.” She hears his callouses catching on the short hairs of his neck. Tears begin to fall hot on her cheeks, the salt making her eyes burn. “And the natural thing for someone in your position to do is to reach out for something or someone familiar. But I assure you, we’ve never met before.”

His voice sounds muffled and farther away.

Head hurts so much.

Maybe everything is much clearer because this is another dream.

She’ll wake up, and the Doctor will be there, bouncing on the balls of his feet, itching to drag her out of bed on to their next adventure.

Maybe if she just wakes up…


	4. there's no home for you here

_The TARDIS corridors are longer than usual. Maybe she’s cranky today._

_Flash of light._

_The Doctor’s so close to her, so close she has to cross her eyes to see him. “This is me!” He holds up something metallic and small. Why can’t she see it?_

_Back in the corridors. She hears a primal scream. “Doctor!” She runs- this hall keeps going, going, going-_

_She’s in the console room finally. The Doctor is wearing a metal helmet, kind of like the bald guy from X-Men. Shouting and shaking. He falls to his knees._

_"Doctor!"_

_He waves her back, panicking. “No, Rose, don’t!”_

_The light hurts as she flies back. Why does the light hurt?_

_"Rooooose!"_

She bolts upright, gulping in air.

Just a dream. But…part of it seemed real. They had been running from the hunters, and the Doctor had said something about changing. If only she could remember.

Still can’t see. What if the Doctor doesn’t come back? What if this is perma-

Can’t think that way now.

He’s come through in tight spots before, though she is hard pressed to think of any tighter.

What is that smell? Her hands fly up to her face, feeling a cloth holding some foul-odored pouches to her eyes. Stifling the childish urge to rip it off, she tries to assess her surroundings. 

Birds are outside twittering. She can feel the warmth of the sun on her face. Must be morning. The floorboards squeak outside her room as a couple pairs of feet move. Grimacing at the soreness in her limbs, she swings her own feet over the side of the bed. She gasps as her feet touch the cold, unfinished wood.

After stubbing her toes a few times trying to navigate the room, she creates a system of tentatively pointing her toes out before throwing all of her weight into a step. She reaches the wall opposite the bed and finds the door. Fumbling for the knob, she tentatively opens the door and steps out. She slides her hand along the wood paneling of the wall, steadying herself. No one seems to be immediately outside her door.

"Hello?" She continues along, until her hand reaches a corner. As she turns around it, her toes catch on a rug, and she starts to fall forward. Suddenly, someone catches her around the waist, and her hands land on a man’s chest, grasping at a starched cotton shirt.

"Steady on, now!" The Doctor. Or the not- Doctor. His hands haven’t yet left her waist, as her hands twitch on his chest. Only one heartbeat.

One…heartbeat.

_"I have to become human. I have to hide!"_

She gasps a little as the memory comes back, but the Doctor takes it as her realizing their rather intimate proximity and quickly steps back. Her mind races. He had said he probably wouldn’t remember her, but that the TARDIS should take care of her. Well, the TARDIS had crashed.

The Doctor cleared his throat, bringing her back to the present. “Are you all right, Miss Tyler?”

"I believe so, yes. Just wanted some water." She says, smoothing the front of her nightgown to give her hands something to do.

"Right. Here, I’ll bring you whatever you need. Let’s get you back to your room." She feels his fingers brush the side of her hand hesitantly before deciding to rest on her elbow. He navigates her back to her bed, not letting go until she is seated. "Was there something else you needed besides water?"

A rumble of her stomach answers his question. He laughs. Not the giggle or the head-thrown-back guffaw she was used to, but a very nervous, restrained one. She realizes she is frowning at him when he clears his throat again.

"Right, well. I’m a bit rubbish at cooking and Nurse Redfern is tending one of the Baker children down the way. But I could make up some toast?"

She tries to put on her most gracious smile. “Sounds lovely.”

A short smack of his hands- probably against his thighs. “I’ll get to that, then.” She hears his footsteps leaving.

"Doctor?"

He stops. “Yes?”

"What’s your name?"

"I’m so sorry. Terribly rude of me. I’m accustomed to people calling me ‘Doctor,’ but my name’s Smith. John Smith."

"Not very imaginative." She grins at him.

A long pause. She hopes she hasn’t offended him. He then chuckles softly, “I suppose not.”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

After what she gauges is about a half-hour, and several instances of smelling burning bread, his quick step announces his returning.

"And here we go." She feels a tray being shifted onto her lap. "A few slices of toast with marmalade."

He hands Rose a spoon. She reaches forward tentatively and after bumping the plate, she grasps the small glass jar. “Wait,” she says, spoon mid-air.

"Do you need help with spreading the jam?"

"No," she shakes her head. "I think I’ve got it. I just want to make sure that you haven’t been eating out of the jar with your fingers."

Silence, then spluttering. She almost hears his face redden.

"That is a fresh jar."

She can’t help but grin at how he sounds like a little boy caught in the act. “You didn’t even take a little bit off the top?”

He huffs. “All right, I took a little bit off the top once with my very clean hands. Though I’m bewildered at how you knew.”

"Oh, I’ve been around doctors before. Seems to be a running thing."

"You’re a nurse, then?"

"No, no. Just friends with them."

"Ah." She hears him pull up a chair nearer to her bed. "So where are you from, Miss Tyler?"

"Rose. Please just call me Rose."

"A tad informal, but since you’re the the patient. You can call me John, if you wish."

"I think ‘Doctor’ suits you better."

"Indeed," he says happily before crunching into his own toast. She tries not to grimace with how much sugar he put in her tea.

"So, _Rose_ ,” he rolls the ‘r’ softly, “How did you come to be in our woods?”

"I don’t know," she says truthfully. "I don’t remember."

"Where are you from?"

"London, originally. Been traveling some lately." She chews her toast slowly before asking her own question. "What about you? I don’t recall Americans sounding like that."

"No, you’re right, I’m from near London. An estate. Powell, it was. Yes."

The piece of toast she was bringing towards her mouth hangs in midair. “O-oh?”

"You are familiar with it, then?"

"Yes. You could say that." Oh, she was going to tease him mercilessly once this whole ordeal was over. She swallows thickly. It’s just figuring out what to do between now and then…

"Do you remember if you were attacked? We have…some issues with animals in the woods."

"I don’t remember." What if the hunters had followed them? She didn’t even remember what they looked like. What if they had been preying on this village? She still wasn’t even sure what time period she was in, but couldn’t figure out a way to ask without sounding completely mental. She hopes he will play it off as being a result of the head injury. "Um, I know this is going to sound a bit odd, but what year is this?"

A pause. “It’s the year of our Lord eighteen hundred and seventy-three. Fourteenth of May. Ninth hour, forty-seven minutes, eighteen, no, nineteen seconds.

"Sure you couldn’t be more specific?" she teases.

"Well, it’s not as if I lord over time itself."

She stifles a laugh.

"Do you know where you are?"

She sips her tea before answering. “No, I’m afraid I don’t.”

He squeezes the hand resting on her bed. “It is all right, don’t worry. It is a completely common occurrence with a head injury.”

"You are in our little village in the middle of the territory." Miss Redfern’s clipped voice makes them both start, the Doctor withdrawing his hand. "Quite a small place, but we make do. And Doctor? There’s a group outside wishing to speak with you."

"Well, better be quick, shall I? I will be back to check up on you, Rose."

"Thank you, Doctor."

The door shuts, and Rose thinks she is alone again.

"The doctor is quite nice, isn’t he?"

So Nurse Redfern was still here. “Yes, he seems to be.”

"Trifle absentminded, but he’s the best I’ve ever worked under." The nurse is tucking the sheets and blankets at Rose’s feet.

Was that admiration, or a little more? “You know him well?”

"I’ve been working with him daily since he came here two months ago." She scoffs softly. "Could it have been such a short time ago?"

Rose tries to keep from rolling her eyes. Definitely smitten.

But wait.

Two months? The Doctor has been here two months? But the TARDIS couldn’t have crashed that long ago.

What if she doesn’t figure out how to bring him back? What does she do if he tries to make…permanent connections?

She realizes that she’s let her mind wander for too long and asks, “Does he plan on settling here?”

"We can only hope he does." She pushes Rose forward, pulling out the pillows to fluff them. A bit harshly, if Rose were paying particular attention.

"Men like that tend to be travelers." Rose tries to tell herself that she’s just trying to make it easier for this woman in the end. Not staking a claim. Nope.

Nurse Redfern clucks her tongue. “Well, I wouldn’t know about ‘men like that,’ but he seems pretty settled.”

Best not get on her bad side right off. “I suppose.”

"I will go see about getting you some fresh poultices." The quick staccato left her room.

Could this get any worse? The Doctor is, for all intents and purposes, absent, and he’s got some poor woman infatuated with him? She can’t think about it. Where had he gone? Outside. Group of people. Right.

What would a ‘group’ need with him?

…

She should probably go check it out.

Nurse Redfern’s whistle sounds pretty far away, so hopefully she can get around without being noticed.

Rose tiptoes into the hallway, straining to listen for an indicator of where the Doctor was. There is a rumble of voices to her…left. She walks along, hand against the wall, until the wall ends. Slowly, she reaches out to touch…more wood. Gliding down the wood, she feels the knob of a door. This must be the front door. She puts her ear to the wood, hoping to hear what is going on.

A very young woman says, “…but how could she have survived in the woods? They…they should have killed her.”

A man breaks in. “I do not know. Maybe they noticed she couldn’t see and took pity on her.”

Now an older woman speaks. “Well, whoever she is, what are we going to do with her?”

"Well, she’s too ill to go anywhere now." The Doctor’s authoritative voice sounded the most like him since she woke up. "The girl has amnesia. She does not know what happened, or what attacked her. She even asked me what year it was! She poses no threat, no danger."

She heard footsteps coming quick behind her. Nurse Redfern! Would there be a closet near the door? Rose scrambles to her right, hoping to not just find more wall. Her hand slides frantically across the paneling until she mercifully finds a knob and jumps behind the door. She is surrounded by a lot of cloth, and she is able to assess that she indeed had made it into a closet. Thankfully with a clear floor. She leaves the door slightly cracked, hoping to still hear.

It sounds like the nurse has left the front door ajar.

A different man speaks up. “So where is she going to stay?”

"Here, of course." The Doctor sounds incredulous.

"Is that proper?" Nurse Redfern asks. Rose’s eyes narrow.

"Well, you are here most of the time, Nurse. And I’m a doctor. I would hope that I have proved myself honorable. Besides, I am the newest addition to our little hamlet, and she will need acclimating. To our ways."

“You will still be able to help her, but I feel it would be best that she stays with me.” Joan’s voice brokers no objectors.

“Very well, then.” Rose’s heart sinks as the Doctor concedes.

An authoritative voice rings out. “As long as she is able to conform to our ways, I see no trouble. And as her memory comes back, we will…help her accordingly.”

There is a rumble of agreement. The conversation seems to start to disperse, so Rose tries to quickly sneak back to her room before they notice. She quickly finds the wall and uses it to guide her back. She rounds the corner, and turns in to the room.

"What are you doing out of bed?"


	5. offend in every way

_“What are you doing out of bed?”_

Rose startles at the sound of a female voice. It’s definitely not Nurse Redfern’s, too young, though it does seem vaguely familiar. She reaches her hand out. “Who is it?”

Slim fingers meet hers. “Oh, beg your pardon, Miss, it’s Mary. I help Doctor Smith and Nurse Redfern.”

“Oh,” says Rose as the recognition clicks into place. “Yeah, I remember you now.”

“You shouldn’t be up and about yet, though,” scolds Mary, tugging at her hand to lead her back to her bed. “You need to rest. I’ve never seen anyone so injured.”

“I’m fine, really,” protests Rose to no avail as she’s pulled along behind the girl. She finds that she’s not really up to offering much resistance, so perhaps Mary has a point. Then they go around a corner, and with a dull thunk, her foot connects with a doorframe. She yelps and pulls them both to a halt.

“Oh, dear, I’m sorry,” cries Mary. “I didn’t think. I’ll go slower.”

Gently, Rose extracts her hand. “It’s alright. Probably easier if I just find my own way, yeah?” They are close, she thinks, trying to get a feel for the layout of the house. She feels her way along the wall and then pauses by the entrance to the bedroom. “You know, I really am feeling much better. Maybe not up for a run, but I probably don’t need to be off my feet entirely. And staying in bed’s a bit boring, so…”

“Oh, that’s why I was coming to find you,” says Mary quickly. “You have a visitor. Here, I’ll help you into bed and find you a shawl to cover up before I bring him in.” She bustles Rose into the room before she has a chance to protest.

The bed creaks as Rose sat down, and she finds with some chagrin that sitting really is a bit of a relief. “Bring who in?” she asks as Mary tucks her legs back under the covers.

“Isaac Murray. He’s the one who found you, out by the forest.” Mary pauses. “He’s a bit…simple, Isaac. But he has a good heart. And really, it’s a blessing that he’s that way. Not many would be out walking so near the woods.” 

There is the sound of a squeaky hinge and the thud of what sounds like a trunk lid closing. Then, Mary drapes something over her shoulders. She wraps a second bit of fabric over her head like a kerchief. “There now, that’s better. And we’ll get you a real bath tonight, if Dr. Smith thinks it safe to get your head wet.” She tugs the covers to straighten them. “Nice and proper. I’ll go fetch Isaac.”

Her footsteps fade away, and a few moments pass in silence. Rose wonders idly if the Doctor will come back as well—she’d really like to know more about the questions that the villagers had asked. Her arrival seems to have ruffled some feathers at least. She’ll have to be careful—she can’t afford to leave the Doctor alone, not in the state he’s in. 

And anyway, where would she go? She gives an involuntary shudder at the thought of going back into the forest.

There are more footsteps in the hall, approaching this time.

“Here’s Isaac, Miss,” says Mary from the doorway. “I’ll be in the kitchen, so just call if you need anything.”

Mary’s steps fade away, but Rose can’t hear anyone else. She tips her head to one side. “Hello?”

There is a quiet, sort of wheezy chuckle, and then a man’s voice answers shyly. “Hello.”

The silence feels a little awkward, and Rose wishes she could see. She has met people from all sorts of places and times and has managed to get along well enough, but she’s never realized how much she relies on sight to get a read on a person. “Ah. It’s nice to meet you, Isaac. My name’s Rose.” She pauses, but there’s no response. “Thank you for rescuing me.”

After a moment, he mumbles, “Brought you pretty things,” and she can hear shambling footsteps and the rustle of something being offered. Tentatively she stretches a hand out, and he presses a fistful of flower stems into her palm.

“Oh,” she says, taking them. “That’s nice of you. Thank you.” With her free hand, she feels the clusters of tiny blossoms—some sort of wild flower, she thinks—and then brings them up to her face for a sniff. Well, they smell pretty at least. She smiles. “They’re lovely.”

He laughs but doesn’t say anything.

She fishes for a conversation topic. “So…do you go for walks in the woods often?”

There is a long pause, before he answers softly, “Away from the houses.”

Rose nods. “Nice to get away sometimes, yeah?”

“All the loud words,” he says but doesn’t elaborate.

Rose nods, trying to imagine what living with a mental disability must be like in 1873. “Maybe sometime you can take me there,” she suggests, thinking that sooner or later, she’s going to need to find the TARDIS. Plus, she has the feeling that Isaac might be a more willing source of information than some of the villagers.

He makes that sound again—laughing under his breath—and Rose has the impression that he’s about to speak when they hear the sound of footsteps in the hall, and Isaac goes quiet.

“Ah, a visitor, I see.” It’s the Doctor. Dr. Smith.

“Isaac was nice enough to bring me some flowers,” says Rose, lifting the bouquet for emphasis. 

“That was kind of him. But Isaac,” he says, sterner now, “your mother is calling for you. You’d best hurry along—you shouldn’t worry her so.”

Beside the bed, Rose can hear Isaac stand. “Thanks for coming by,” she says with a smile. “And for the flowers.”

There’s a bit of a pause, and she could swear that she can hear his mouth working, trying to find the words. And then, there’s a soft, “Welcome.” With quiet footsteps, he departs.

“You’re good at that,” comments the Doctor as he steps forward into the room. Rose can hear the slight rattling sound of something being lowered to her bedside. A tray, she decides as she feels the edge of it against her leg. “Good at talking with people. I believe I’d been here a month before I was able to get that young man to speak to me at all.”

Rose shrugs. “It’s not really anything. I’ve just talked to a lot of people, I suppose.”

“Hmm.” There is the sound of a chair being drawn over to the side of the bed. “Perhaps that’s it. I have to change your poultices now. Lean forward, please, and I’ll unwrap the bandages.”

Rose unties the cloth wrapping on her head as she complies. “So what was that all about? The group who wanted to see you?”

“Hmm? Oh.” The Doctor sounds distracted as he gets to work. “Nothing, really. Some of the villagers had questions about where you’d come from, that’s all. There were just a few…concerns.”

“Concerns about what?” It comes out quicker than she’d intended, and she tries to school her features into casual indifference.

“Just whether you were healing and where you will stay. Where you’re from. How you’ve come to be in our little town.”

“I don’t remember,” Rose answers quickly. 

“So I told them,” he replies, as the bandages fall away. “But as I may have mentioned before, visitors are quite…unusual here.” 

“How did you get here, then? Nurse Redfern said you’d been here only two months.”

“I came in answer to a specific advertisement,” he tells her, and his voice seems sharper. “The village elders requested a doctor, one who would be familiar with rustic medicine, as supplies from the outside are difficult to obtain.” 

“You saw an advert for this job in London?”

“Hmm? No. No, I was in Boston at the time.” The last of the bandages fall away. “I was…traveling around for a bit. Now be still and keep your eyes closed. I will remove the poultices slowly.”

She does as he asks but can’t keep herself from hissing as the pouches are pulled away from the burns on her face. The Doctor, however, makes a pleased sound.

“You are healing well,” he remarks, and she hears him fiddling with something on the tray. A moment later, he grasps her by the chin with one hand. “Hold still. I need to clean the skin around your eyes. Remember to keep them closed.”

He must be very close—she can feel his breath on her face, and she’s suddenly conscious of the fact that her own breath must be horrible. He doesn’t seem to mind, though, judging by the way his thumb is just barely stroking her jaw. The sensation makes her cheeks heat up a little, and she hopes she’s not blushing too noticeably.

He brings a soft, wet flannel to her face. It smells a bit like tea, and she only just stops herself from asking if he’s treating her injuries with PG tips. Then he starts washing the raw flesh, and she’s forced to grip the mattress to keep from pulling away.

When she can’t quite stifle a whimper, he apologizes. “I’m sorry. I have to be thorough to prevent sepsis.”

“S’alright,” she says through clenched teeth. “Just get it done.” To distract herself from the pain, she asks, “So why did you leave London?”

He sighs. “It’s…complicated.” When she doesn’t say anything, he adds, “I left because staying would have meant harming someone. A…a woman for whom I cared very much.” He sets the flannel down, and Rose sighs in relief. “It was years ago. Not important anymore. And after that, I traveled for quite awhile. But I am old news by now. Everyone is more interested on how you found your way here.”

“And I’ve told you, I really don’t remember. But,” she continues quickly before he has a chance to question that further, “I mean, if they’re worried about me fitting in, you can tell them not to worry. I’ll follow the rules, keep out of people’s way. I won’t cause trouble, I promise.”

He pats her hand. “No need to worry. The people here are kindly, and though your arrival was unexpected, you are not unwelcome here.”

It’s not exactly an overwhelming statement of acceptance. Rose shifts uneasily on the bed. “If you think it’s alright, I’d love to spend some time outside. It’d keep me from being underfoot.”

She can hear him fussing with things on the tray, tidying up. “Another few days should see you on your feet, but it’d be difficult for you to navigate the village by yourself.”

“I thought maybe Isaac could take me for walks,” she suggests. “That is, if he is willing and has the time and all that.”

“Well. I suppose that is one possible solution. Although…” He hesitates a moment. “I would be happy to guide you. If you like. I do enjoy a good walk, and I am frequently out in the gardens and the fields, cataloging the different species of flora.”

Rose nods, her smile growing. “Yeah. Yeah, I’d like that.” 

“Well, then, it’s all settled.” She can tell from his voice he’s happy. She can practically see him smiling. “You shouldn’t be cooped up in here.”

“Definitely.” She is grinning now. “Maybe I can even give you a hand.”

“Perhaps.” He sounds a little skeptical, but Rose doesn’t care. It feels like the Doctor’s back, and it’s just such a relief.

He pats her hand again. “I wouldn’t want you to feel as though you had to spend all your time in the company of a dullard.”

The word slips by so quickly that Rose is certain she heard him wrong. The Doctor would never… “A…a what? What do you mean?”

“An idiot,” he replies without hesitation. “A simpleton. Isaac,” he clarifies when she can’t do anything but frown. “Surely you’ve noticed that he is mentally deficient. Were we in a larger town, he would probably be in an asylum. Here, though, his mother is forced to keep him. I understand that he’s able to do a few simple chores, of course, but he’s hardly fit company for you.”

He says the last word so warmly, in such a low, pleasant tone. It’s clearly intended as a flirtation, and it ought to be running through her veins like fire. Instead, she recoils. If there’s one thing Rose is sure of, it’s that the Doctor—the _real_ Doctor—wouldn’t callously disregard the value of another person like this.

All at once, it’s like he’s a stranger. 

“You…you shouldn’t say that,” she admonishes, sitting up straighter. Pulling away from him. 

“What, that he’s not fit company?” He sounds amused. “But he’s not. I suppose he’s not a bad sort, but surely, you would rather have the companionship of someone more your equal?” 

“Stop saying things like that,” she nearly shouts. Tears are threaten at the corners of her still-shut eyes, making them burn. If anyone else from this time had spoken this way, she would have taken it in stride, but for _him_ to do it… She clenches her hands into fists.

“I’m sorry,” he says, sounding sincere. “I’ve upset you. I did not intend to cause offense.”

“That doesn’t matter,” she argues, horribly frustrated because he’s still missing the point. “It’s not about me, is it? It’s about the way you treat people. All people. You can’t just shrug someone off as useless because they have a…a disability.”

He is quiet for a long moment. 

She had been so sure that she’d sensed the Doctor in there somewhere, dipping his fingers in jam jars and talking of the Powell Estate. It had seemed like he was just wearing the mask, something made of temporary and unimportant details. But the man who valued humans and aliens and pigs in space suits and vats of living plastic alike wouldn’t speak this way, and she suddenly feels so alone. One traitorous tear slips past her lashes and stings the raw flesh of her cheek.

“There now, don’t cry,” he says softly. “I am sorry. I promise to think on what you have said.”

Taking a deep breath, Rose collects herself. “Thank you.” She just has to remember that John Smith is not the Doctor, however much he might seem like him. This is a different time and a different morality, and Dr. Smith, whatever he is, is a product of that culture. She tries to offer him a bit of a smile.

“That’s better.” He’s relieved, she can tell. “Now, are you ready to finish the exam?”

“Can I open my eyes?”

“One moment.” He stands up and crosses the room to fetch something. When he returns, Rose can smell the scent of candle wax, stronger than before. “Alright. Slowly open your eyes.”

With some effort, she lifts her swollen eyelids and blinks.

“Can you see the candle? Any light at all?”

She can’t. 

…

It’s alright, though. The Doctor will fix it when he comes back.

The proper Doctor.


	6. we're going to be friends

Rose is moved into the spare bedroom in Nurse Redfern’s house. It’s a tiny space up on the second story, quite warm at the end of the day, and Rose has some concerns about getting up and down the narrow staircase. Nonetheless, she really can’t complain—everyone has been really nice. Several people come to call on her while she recuperates, and no one ever objects to having an extra mouth to feed, especially one who can’t contribute. 

The women of the settlement scrounge up some clothing for her—dresses, a nightgown, a pair of boots, and some underthings that Rose already knows are going to leave her completely baffled. Luckily, Mary agrees to help her with some of the more tricky bits.

There is an uncomfortable meeting with someone named Elder Brahme shortly after she’s settled in. He asks, no, _grills_ her about her origins. Rose answers as best she can, playing up her head injury as much as possible. She doesn’t know enough about this time to have a good story handy, and she definitely doesn’t want anyone to go poking around in the woods looking for answers—who knows if the TARDIS is in any state to protect itself. Not that it seems very likely that they would. Nobody says much, but Rose definitely gets the impression that the woods are off-limits.

The conversation ends with Elder Brahme announcing, with no small amount of reluctance, that she can stay. For the time being, at least. As long as she behaves herself.

Rose breathes a sigh of relief and vows to do as little as possible to rock the boat. Like pushing twenty-first century ideas on a nineteenth century man—ugh, she already regrets that conversation with Dr. Smith. It’s not that she thinks she was wrong, definitely not, but her reaction was less about her outrage at hearing that sort of thing in this time period and more the result of those words come out of the Doctor’s mouth in particular.

He hasn’t come by to see her in three days. 

Rose is trying hard not to think about that.

In the meantime, Nurse Redfern tends to her injuries and changes her bandages. She seems competent and efficient, and they get on well enough as long as they both studiously avoid the topic of John Smith. The one time that Rose tentatively asks after him, Nurse Redfern says something about a rash of childhood fever cases in the village and quickly changes the subject. 

Mary proves to be a better source of information. She happily chatters on about Dr. Smith, at least when Nurse Redfern isn’t there to tell her to hold her tongue. Apparently, his arrival was quite the event, and Mary confirms, much to Rose’s puzzlement, that he did move to the little village just a little over two months ago. 

It makes absolutely no sense, and Rose can’t wrap her head around it at all. The events leading up to her arrival are still fuzzy, but she’s sure she wasn’t in the woods for months at a time, and she can’t think of any other reason for the time gap. She’s pretty sure things didn’t quite go as planned, though—if only she could remember what the plan actually was. In her more desperate moments in the night, staring sightlessly at the ceiling, Rose is overcome with fear that she’s in the wrong place entirely. Maybe John Smith isn’t the Doctor at all, and this is all just some sort of horrible mistake or a parallel world or something. A trick or a dream or virtual reality—anything is possible.

Most of the time, she tries not to think about all of that, too.

In any case, she can only work with what she’s got, and that’s John Smith, ostensibly the Doctor disguised as a human. Rose has no idea how he changed species, no idea how long they are supposed to be in hiding, and no idea how to change him back, and the only thing she can think of is to try to convince him to come with her to the TARDIS in hopes that there will be some sort of solution available in the ship. That is, assuming she can even find it.

And assuming Dr. Smith ever speaks to her again.

On the fourth day of his absence, Rose decides that she’s had enough and that she’s going to track him down even if she has to do it on her hands and knees. Hopefully, though, it won’t come to that; as soon as Mary comes back from her errands, Rose is going to do her best to enlist her aid as a guide. 

She is in the little sitting room on the ground floor of Nurse Redfern’s house, waiting, when she hears sound of footsteps on the porch, and her heart speeds up. That’s not Mary. She’d know those footsteps anywhere. It’s the Doctor.

_John Smith_ , she reminds herself firmly.

There is a knock, and she calls for him to come in. The door creaks as he opens it, and he walks the short distance to the sitting room entrance.

“Rose.” She can hear him shifting in place, shuffling his feet. 

“Dr. Smith.” 

“Ah.” There is an audible wince in his voice at her use of his name, and she remembers that he said he prefers to be called Doctor. ( _Well, tough_ , she thinks.) “Hello.”

She raises a hand to do the little half-wave she does with the Doctor before she can stop herself. “Hello. Um. Please come in.” She waves a hand to where she’s fairly sure there’s some sort of settee, close to her own chair. 

The settee creaks as he takes a seat. “How have you been feeling? Any better?”

“Yeah, better.” She bites a thumbnail. “Still can’t see, though.”

There is a moment of silence. “I’m sorry. We mustn’t give up hope, though.”

Rose just shrugs because there’s nothing really to say. 

“I’m sorry that I haven’t been by to check on you; I’ve had a number of patients take ill. Fortunately, Miss Redfern is more than capable enough to stand in my stead, and she’s told me that you’ve been healing well. In fact, I don’t think you’ll be needed the poultices anymore.”

Rose nods.

“But that’s not why I’ve come to visit you today. I just wanted you to know…” He pauses, and there’s a shuffling noise of him shifting on the settee, moving closer to her. After a moment, his warm hand takes hers. “I just wanted you to know that I’ve considered what you said at our last meeting.”

“Oh,” says Rose, not quite sure what to say to that.

“And…you were right. It was wrong of me to dismiss the worth of a fellow man like that. I have taken pains when I could over the last few days to observe Isaac at his work, and I have seen him be both careful and thorough.” He stops again, swallows. “I just wanted you to know that.”

“Thank you,” she says, pleasantly surprised. It’s an odd thing—she can’t remember the Doctor ever apologizing quite like this, so it’s just another difference between them—unsettling, but not bad. Definitely not bad. 

Dr. Smith continues. “I think you’re well enough to be up and about, for a little while at least. You’ll still need help, of course, so I took the liberty of asking Isaac to walk with you today.” He pauses for a breath. “I hope that’s alright.”

“Yeah,” she answers quickly, smiling. “Yeah, that’d be lovely.”

“And in the future, if you’ll allow me,” he says in a rush, “I’d be happy to accompany you myself. I’m afraid I won’t be able to join you just yet—I still have a number of patients who are bedridden—but once the fever runs its course…that is, of course, if you are amenable.” 

He sounds so nervous, and the tone is so familiar— _why, don’t you want to come?_ —that it’s easy to squeeze his hand in forgiveness. “I’d like that.”  
And it’s worth it to hear the smile in his voice. “Good. I’d…I’d like us to be friends.”

“Friends,” she agrees, patting his hand before pulling hers free. Yeah, she can do that. Being friends is good. 

As long as she can remember that he’s not really the Doctor.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Over the next several days, Rose is able to make some short trips outside, and she finds that a lot can be learned about a person by how they lead. Joan Redfern is extremely conscientious, if a little brusque, with little to no small talk. Mary is to be avoided at all costs—nothing but small talk, and Rose is guaranteed to stub her toe or crash into a wall at least twice. The Doc—no…Dr. Smith is not bad, but he too sometimes gets distracted, either by a fascinating conversation topic or occasionally, she thinks, by her. (In that instance, though, he’s the one to walk face-first into a wall.) 

Surprisingly, Isaac is probably the best of all of them—the most careful and the most patient. As an added benefit, he has the most free time and seems happy to spend it walking with her. Rose gets the feeling that he’s lonely. He comes by nearly every morning and likes to stand under her window, tossing pebbles at the glass until she agrees to come down. 

One afternoon, they take a long walk in the fields. Rose is thrilled to be out—the air is sweet, the birds are singing, and honestly, it’s nice to have a chance to get away from the rest of the townsfolk. As kind as they are, it’s grating to constantly receive that much sympathy. Isaac makes for good company, especially since he doesn’t expect much in the way of conversation, and he never offers her pity. 

When they reach the edge of the little river, he finds a place for her to sit comfortably on a broad, flat rock and then runs up and down the riverbank, finding flowers and rocks and other interesting things to place into her hands. 

As she waits for him to come back with his latest prize, Rose plays with the brim of her straw hat, experimenting with the different sensations of sunlight and shade on her face. She’s pretty sure she’s heard that when sight is gone, the other senses grow sharper. Testing herself with the sounds, the smells, the textures around her, she decides that it’s not really true—more that in the absence of vision, she just pays more attention to the information from her ears, nose, and skin.

Adjusting her hat so that it covers her face, she lies back on the rock, spreading her hands flat against the warm stone. If the Doctor were here, she thinks with a sigh, he’d be lying right beside her, telling her about the history of the valley or the flight patterns of bees or that time he caught a fish _this big_ …or anything, really. Or maybe they’d be holding hands, looking for shapes in the clouds (because of course, if he were here, she’d be able to see). And as an added bonus, they’d probably be spread out on his coat—a welcome layer between her back and the rock.

She flexes her empty fingers with a sigh. She really misses that coat. Its occupant, too.

As she hears the sound of footsteps through the tall grass, she picks her hat up off her face and waves it. “Don’t worry, Isaac. ‘M still here. What’ve you found?”

“Ah, Rose! Hello.” It’s Dr. Smith. 

Rose sits up quickly and loses her grip on the brim of her hat. As it leaves her fingers, it gets caught by the wind and goes spiraling off to places unknown. “Oh, shoot!”

“Oh, sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you. Well, not to worry,” says Dr. Smith heartily, moving away from her. “I’ll fetch it for you. It hasn’t gone far afield—just perched in the arms of this lovely little oak tree. The work of a moment to get it down, really.” 

There are some scuffling noises, and something that sounds suspiciously like a curse word. Then Rose hears a series of loud scrapes followed by the violent shaking of a tree limb. She tilts her head, frowning. “You alright?” It suddenly occurs to her that if he breaks his neck climbing a tree as a human, he might not be able to heal or regenerate. “Be careful!”

“Yes! Yes!” he grunts. “Almost…got it…there!”

There’s a thump—for better or worse, he’s back down on the ground. Rose’s forehead creases in alarm, but there’s no need. All is well, and soon, he’s standing in front of her. “Your hat, milady.” He places it in her hands.

“Thanks.” She puts it back on, careful to make sure it’s shading her face. “So, what’re you doing out here? Are those kids feeling better?”

“Much. Everyone’s on the mend. I thought I’d try to get a little fresh air while I had the chance.” He pauses a moment, and when he speaks again, he sounds a bit hesitant. “You’re not all by yourself, are you?”

“No, ‘course not.” Rose shakes her head at him before giving Isaac a shout. A moment later, she can hear him running toward them through the grass. “Isaac’s been great.” Turning toward the sound of approaching footsteps, she asks, “What’d you find?”

“Frog,” Isaac pants. Then he claps his hands to show that they’re empty. “Hopped away.”

“Ah.” Rose suppresses a shudder. “That’s alright. Maybe next time.” 

“Well,” says Dr. Smith. “I thought I’d try to walk down the riverbank. Would you two care to join me?”

After Rose assents and Isaac shyly agrees, they walk along the little river before crossing an old bridge, the timbers creaking under their feet. Isaac, freed from his responsibility, runs ahead, so Dr. Smith carefully guides her along the rough path on the opposite bank. As they go, he describes the fields and flowers and little trees with great care, making them sound charming and lovely. He never talks about the forest or the hills beyond, though. The omission is enough to pique her curiosity.

“Is this the only river around here?” she asks, interrupting his lecture on the feeding habits of the ruby throated warbler.

“Yes, just the one. It opens up into a little lake down at the eastern end of the settlement, just big enough for rowing. It’s a lovely spot. I’ll take you there sometime, if you like.”

“Yeah, that’d be nice.” She waits just a moment before adding, “I think I remember following the river when I was lost in the forest.” There, she’s said it—the f-word.

When he answers, the happy ease of his voice is gone. “Do you?”

“Yeah.” 

There is a long pause, and she can picture the way his face must look, the way his eyebrows draw together when he’s concerned about something. When he answers, though, his voice is deliberately light. “It’s fortunate you were able to find it. Without the river for a guide, you might have wandered in circles. Oh, there goes one of the warblers now! Did I tell you about the way they call their mates?”

Rose refuses to be sidetracked. “It’s just that, if I followed the river, I must have come out of the forest near here, yeah? Is that right, Isaac?” she asks in a louder voice, but there’s no answer—he must be out of earshot.

Dr. Smith sighs. “We are still a fair distance from the edge of the woods. But yes, I imagine you were found near where the river crosses the tree line. Perhaps a little ways within the woods if Isaac was foolish enough to stray into them. It is very lucky that he found you when he did.”

“Why?” she presses. “What is in the woods?”

There is a long silence. “I’m not sure we should be discussing this, but… Well, I suppose you need to know. The Elders weren’t sure if you should be told at all, but I think we can trust your discretion, and forewarned is forearmed, after all.” He pauses again, uncertain. “It will sound a bit…odd.”

“It’s alright, you can tell me,” she says, purposely angling her face toward his. “I won’t think you’re crazy or anything. Promise.”

“I won’t hold you to it. The story is quite…incredible.” He takes a deep breath. “You may recall that I once said that visitors are unusual here. That was something of an understatement. In fact, visitors are all but unknown. The village is surrounded by forest, and there is no way to reach the towns that lie beyond the woods without great peril. These woods,” he says slowly, “are not empty.”

Rose frowns. “Before, you said that there were problems with animals.”

“Yes, forgive me the deceit. Whatever they are, the Nameless who dwell in the trees, they are not animals. Creatures, rather—beings of great power who do not allow trespassers to cross their land. We are allowed to live here only so long as we do not disturb them.” 

She asks the first question that pops into her head. “If that’s the case, how did you get here?”

“I was given directions and told that I had to arrive on a very specific date. I didn’t know it at the time, but I believe my passage through the forest was the result of some very careful negotiations.” He pauses again. “Do you believe me?”

Rose blows out a breath. “Yeah.” Really, it explains a lot. Aliens. Obviously aliens, and really, she should have expected it. Only the Doctor would manage to defy time, space, and biology to find a hiding place from aliens and then end up in the middle of another alien invasion. 

When he gets back to his right mind, they are going to have _words_.

“Did you see them at all? What do they look like?” she asks.

“I never did, fortunately.” They walk a moment in silence. “You’re taking this very well,” comments Dr. Smith hesitantly.

“Oh.” Rose tries to school her features into something a little more…expected. “Well, you know. I’ve traveled around a bit. The world is a very strange place sometimes.”

“Quite,” he agrees. “Still, you’re very brave.”

_Well, once you’ve seen one alien invasion, you’ve seen ‘em all_ , she thinks flippantly. She doesn’t even know if it’s a real invasion—could just be some cranky, territorial aliens crash-landed in the woods or something. Unless, of course, the creatures in the woods are the hunters the Doctor had talked about. He must have feared that they’d chase the TARDIS through the Vortex; otherwise, why hide? And if they can time travel…what if they’ve been waiting here all along, searching for him? What if they find the TARDIS? What if they follow her trail right to the Doctor?

Her sudden wave of fear must show on her face—Dr. Smith places his hand over hers where it rests on his arm. “I don’t mean to alarm you. You’re safe here. The village has long since negotiated a peace with those who dwell in the forest. As long as we do not stray into the trees, all will be well. Do not worry. I…” He stops, and his fingers tighten on hers. “I won’t let anything happen to you, Rose.”

Her cheeks are suddenly very warm—maybe they’re walking through a particularly bright patch of sun. “Thanks.” She squeezes his arm in return. “I won’t let anything happen to you, either.” Then she grins, tongue in teeth, so that he’ll take it as a joke. She means it, of course, more than he’ll ever know, but it wouldn’t do to have him hear the resolve behind those words. 

As expected, he laughs. As they make their way back toward the village, he ventures to take her hand instead of her elbow, threading their fingers together, and Rose tries to keep a hold of her new resolve. Sometimes he just seems so much like the Doctor that it leaves her aching.

The next day, he brings her a cane and shows her how to use it—how to tap rather than drag it, how to swing it in time with her steps, and how to listen for the sound it makes. She practices walking around the house with his help, and when he compliments her warmly on her progress, she blushes. Then he shows her how to use it to go up and down the stairs, and she practices him right behind her, his hand warm on her elbow.

When he says reluctantly that he must leave to check on his other patients but then pauses to tuck a tendril of her hair behind her ear before he goes, it suddenly occurs to Rose that Dr. Smith just might be flirting with her, 1870’s style. No, not flirting— _courting_. The idea of that is so bizarre that it keeps her up half the night, tossing and turning in her narrow bed. Sure, she and the Doctor flirt all the time, always have, but Rose has learned perfectly well by now that it’s not going to lead to anything, no matter what she might want. It’s just the way he is. John Smith, though, he’s human. He might mean it.

What would the Doctor say?

Probably nothing, she decides, rolling her sightless eyes. It’s much more likely that he’d avoid the topic like the plague. Besides, the flirting is probably just an old habit, carried over like the fingers in the jam jar. Dr. Smith probably doesn’t mean anything by it either.

When she finally falls asleep, she dreams of coins spilling into her upturned hands; of wheels rolling down dusty, ancient roads; of the London Eye spinning brightly in the night. Behind her, out of sight, the Doctor is speaking—she can hear his voice going faster and faster, but she can’t make out the words. She can’t do anything but stand there above the Thames and stare at the rotating lights of the Eye as they wheel through a swollen black sky.


	7. you've got her in your pocket

The next morning, Mary comes in early and wakes her.

“Here, I’ve brought you a quick bite of breakfast.  Sit up and eat it, and then I’ll help you get ready.”

Rose snuffles into her pillow.  “Ready for what?” she mutters, trying to subtly burrow deeper under her quilt.

“The church service, of course!”  Mary sounds a bit incredulous as she draws the shades.  “Last week, the doctor didn’t think you were well enough, said to just let you sleep.  But now that you’re up and about, you can go.  And you’re in luck!  Anne Holt has lent you a dress to wear, and you and she have the same figure, so it ought to fit.”

With a tug, Mary liberates the blankets, and Rose sits up with a sigh.  She has no idea what time it is, but it feels hideously early.  She rubs her arms, trying to shake of the last vestiges of the dream.  

_There had been something in her hand, something important…_

The breakfast tray is unceremoniously dropped in her lap, and the dream memory slips away.  Rose is able to get a few bites of the bread and butter before Mary hustles her out of bed and into the borrowed dress.

Just as Mary’s lacing up her boots, they hear a knock at the front door.  

“Ah, that’ll be Dr. Smith,” says Mary knowledgeably.  “He always calls on Sundays to walk Miss Redfern to church.”

Rose blinks.  “Oh?”  

“Mm-hmm, he’s being walking her almost since he arrived.”  Mary’s voice drops to a confidential whisper.  “One of these days, he’ll take her to the church properly, I think.”

For several long heartbeats, Rose absorbs this information.  “Oh.  OH.  Um, right.”

“Wouldn’t that be perfect, though?”  Mary sighs happily as she finishes tying the laces.  “The doctor and the nurse, so romantic.  And poor Miss Redfern has been alone for so long since the man who courted her died of a fever when they were both young.  She’s never wanted to walk with anyone until now.” 

“Uh-huh,” agrees Rose blankly as she runs a brush through her hair.  

“Here, let me finish that.  I’ll just do a quick braid, and you’ll be ready to go.”  Mary pulls the brush from her hand and starts to work on her hair, leaving Rose to process what she’s just heard.  It can’t be true…can it?

Or rather, it can’t mean what Mary thinks.  He’s probably just being polite.  Neighborly.  Yes, that must be it, just a friendly, neighborly gesture.  The Doctor’s always doing things like that.  Doesn’t mean a thing.

Not the Doctor, though, she reminds herself with a sudden unease.  John Smith.  Sure, he might flirt with her out of old habit, but he might mean it where Joan Redfern is concerned.

Behind her, Mary finishes the braid.  “There, all done.  You look lovely.”

“Thanks,” says Rose automatically as she puts the things on her dressing table back into place so that she can find them again easily—an important habit, she’s found.  

“If you’re all ready then, I think I’m going to hurry on ahead,” says Mary.  “I’m supposed to meet my friend Ida before the service.”

“Yeah, sure.”  Rose nods.  “Thanks again.”  

  Mary’s footsteps sound on the stairs, and a moment later, there is the sound of her leaving out the back door.  Once it is quiet, Rose can hear voices downstairs in the sitting room.

She taps her fingers against the cool enamel of the washbasin.  This isn’t good.  Joan Redfern and John Smith?  Yeah, there is no way that’s going to end well.  Rose bites her lip.  Should she go down and interrupt?  Wait until they leave?  Casually mention that Dr. Smith is actually a 900-year-old space alien in disguise and not, in fact, the country-doctor-catch he might seem at first glance?  

Rose groans and spends a few moments tugging at her skirt, adjusting her sleeves, checking the fastenings of her dress—all while trying hard to both listen and not-listen to the sound of their conversation.  Finally, she decides that she can’t reasonably delay any longer.  With a deep breath, she picks up her cane and heads downstairs.  

There is laughter now coming from the sitting room.  From the sound of it, Dr. Smith has said something enormously clever, apparently much to Nurse Redfern’s delight.  For a moment, Rose considers just walking out the door and trying to find her own way.    

“Ah, and here’s Rose,” says Dr. Smith as she hesitates by the doorway, the laughter still in his voice.  “Good morning.”

“Yeah, morning.  Sorry to interrupt.”  Rose tries her best to sound nonchalant.  “I’m just heading out.  To the church service.”

“Oh, you’ll need someone to help you along the way,” says Dr. Smith.

“She can walk with Mary,” says Nurse Redfern quickly and then pauses for an uncomfortable moment before calling, “Mary!”

Rose resists the urge to grimace—she’s just so sick of needing help.  “I think Mary already left to go meet her friend.”

“Ah,” says Nurse Redfern stiffly.

“It’s alright,” says Rose, “I’ll just—”

“Well, not to worry,” interrupts Dr. Smith in a cheerful voice.  “I do have two arms, after all.”

There is an awkward silence.

Rose has no idea what to say to that because clearly this whole ‘walking to church’ thing has some serious significance here.  No good at all can come of Nurse Redfern becoming attached to the Doctor—this situation is temporary, and he’s not himself, and he definitely wouldn’t ever consider settling down here if he were in his right mind, and Joan Redfern isn’t even the sort he’d like if he were, and…and…well, a whole myriad of other reasons Rose doesn’t care to explore at the moment.

On the other hand, what can she possibly do about it?  If she takes the Dr. Smith up on his offer, Nurse Redfern is not going to be pleased, and Rose is hesitant to get on the other woman’s bad side, especially since she’s staying in her home.  Plus, something in Rose rebels the notion of being a third wheel.

She is about to suggest that she just escort herself when the situation is saved by the sound of footsteps walking up the path and a light, wheezy chuckle.

“Ah,” says Nurse Redfern, sounding relieved.  “Here’s Isaac.  Miss Tyler can walk with him.”

There is the briefest of pauses before Dr. Smith agrees.  “Right.  Isaac.  He’s definitely capable of escorting Miss Tyler.  There we are.  A perfect solution.”

“Of course,” says Rose bracingly.  “Me n’ Isaac will go together.  That’ll be fine.”  

“Good,” says Nurse Redfern.

“Good,” agrees Rose.

And there’s that uncomfortable silence again.  It lasts all the way to church.

It lasts all the way home, too.

Then, Nurse Redfern and Dr. Smith go off together to see to a patient, leaving Rose alone in the house to fret, twiddle her thumbs, and practice navigating with her cane.  She’d like more than anything to get out of the house, but there’s no one to help her since Isaac went home to do some work for his mum.  She thinks she ought to start searching for the TARDIS, but that’s out of the question.  She’d like to learn a bit more about the aliens in the woods, but that’s not going to happen, either.  She’d like to keep an eye on Dr. Smith, but that’s a bloody physical impossibility.  Hell, she can’t even read to pass the time.

Bearing up patiently under a physical ailment is really starting to lose its charm.

That afternoon, Nurse Redfern returns in a much better mood than when she left, and the chilly atmosphere melts away.  In fact, the woman is practically humming.  During the evening meal, Rose listens and nods at appropriate intervals during Joan’s animated description of Dr. Smith’s clever diagnosis, an uneasy feeling twisting just under her sternum.

“Oh, and before I forget,” says Joan as they finish and she begins to tidy up the table, “Dr. Smith said he’d stop by tomorrow to take you for a walk in the gardens.  Won’t that be nice?”

“Oh-h?”  Rose tries and fails to keep the surprise out of her voice—Joan sounds entirely too comfortable with that idea.  “I mean, yes, sure, that’d be lovely.”

“He’s such a kind-hearted man,” Joan enthuses.  “I know the Elders asked him to take an interested in your welfare, but he really goes out of his way to make sure you are content here.”

“Mmm,” hums Rose noncommittally.  She’s a little unsure where all this is coming from.  “Yes, he’s been very nice.”

“Having a man like that willing to stand for you is quite fortunate.  He has…”  She pauses, and Rose feels a hand come rest on her shoulder.  “He has a brother’s affection in his heart where you are concerned.  Be grateful for that.”

Ah.  So that’s it.  

It takes some effort, but Rose manages to force the words that are waiting, right there on the tip of her tongue, back down where they belong.  Once upon a time, she would have let them spill out, but traveling with the Doctor has taught her a thing or two about diplomacy—telling Nurse Redfern where to get off isn’t going to do anybody any good.  Instead, Rose puts on a sweet smile, nods, and agrees without really agreeing.  

Joan can think what she likes.  Doesn’t change a thing.  As soon as Rose figures out how to fix all this, the Doctor will come back, and they’ll leave together.  Sure, they’ll just be friends—well, friends who happen to hug each other a lot—but it’ll be her hand in his, and that’s all she needs.  Rose has resigned herself to the limits of their relationship, and one way or another, Joan will have to do the same.  

Of course, it wouldn’t hurt to help things along, just a bit.  The less he and Joan are together, the better.

Over the next few weeks, Dr. Smith comes by quite often to see how she’ doing, and Rose makes sure to spend as much time with him as possible.  It’s easy to monopolize his attention—John Smith might not be the Doctor, but there is enough similarity between the two of them to give her an idea of what might interest him.  So she tells him about the time she met Charles Dickens several years ago in Cardiff, and they have a lively discussion about his short stories.  He takes her rowing on the village pond, and she tells him a highly edited version (sans aliens) of the time she fell into the Thames, just to make him laugh.  She asks him questions, gives him a chance to tell her all about beekeeping, candle making, country medicine—anything she can think of, really.  And when he flirts with her, she flirts back.  

It works.                                                                                                       

He still escorts Joan every Sunday but the rest of the week, he spends what free time he has with Rose.  He seems to enjoy playing the tour guide, and he loves to talk—at times, Rose can very nearly imagine that she’s with the Doctor, exploring some new place and time.  

It’s…nice.  The way he takes such pains to please her, offers up so much of his time to keep her company.  And then there’s the way he runs his thumb over the top of her hand every now and then.  It gives Rose a funny, little thrill every time, even though she knows she should just ignore it.  John Smith isn’t even real.

He feels real, though.

He feels real, and she can’t help it—she looks forward to his visits, to that hand resting on hers.  She tells herself that he’s just a mask, a shadow cast by an absent man, but then he tells her a story to make her laugh or does something so sweet and thoughtful that it makes her heart swell.  

She is so alone.

He takes that away, if only for a little while.

When he is too busy practicing medicine to be with her, she spends her time fretting about finding the TARDIS.  She worries about the aliens in the woods and the aliens hunting for the Doctor. She wracks her brains for a way to bring him back.  And at night, she dreams of pinwheels and candy tins and the spiraling centers of sunflowers.  Sometimes, on the worst nights, she dreams of screaming—horrible, inhuman screaming.

It’s after the first such nightmare that she decides to start pushing the limits of her independence.  She has to reach the TARDIS, and the only way is through the woods.  With Isaac’s help, she starts learning how to navigate the outdoors, using sound and touch and smell to guide herself from house to house through the village.  After a while, she is confident enough to go without help.

The day she first ventures out of town, she heads toward the river, thinking that she’d like to find the spot where it exits the forest.  Just in case, she follows a fence to make sure she can find her way back, but she tries to find her way mostly with her cane and other senses.

From the fields come the sounds of sheep baaing contentedly.  Farther off, Rose can hear dogs barking and children playing.  The sun is shining on the right side of her face, helping her mark her direction.  She can tell that she’s past the buildings at the edge of town when the ground grows rougher and the path narrows.  She goes cautiously, trying to remember the previous times she’s come this way with Isaac.  When she finally reaches the gate that leads toward the river, she grins in triumph at her success.

Before she has a chance to decide whether to push on, a bell begins to toll from somewhere across the valley.  It’s not coming from the direction of the village, but just as Rose turns to try to pinpoint its location, another starts to ring, and then another, the sounds coming from several different directions and echoing off the hillsides.

The noise drowns out the sheep and the dogs; it’s disorienting, and for a moment, Rose stands stock still, her heart racing, panicked at the thought of not being able to find her way back.  The fence, she remembers.  Follow the fence.  With her hands trembling, she finds the rough timbers and starts walking as quickly as she can, counting the posts.

There’s shouting coming from the village; she can hear one of the adults calling for the children in the field.  What on Earth has happened?

She needs to find the Doctor.  

She’s getting close, nearly there, when the bells abruptly stop.  The yelling has died down—in fact, as she stops to listen, she realizes that she can’t hear anyone.  No children running, no blacksmith’s hammer, no axe chopping wood.  Even the sheep are silent.

 Rose is debating trying to find a hiding place in the long grass when she hears footsteps running toward her.  She flinches back, raises her cane in defense, but whatever it is just knocks it away and grabs her hand.

“Rose,” he says.  “ _Run._ ”

Her cane falls to the ground as her feet obey automatically, racing along the dirt path behind him.  “Doctor,” she gasps, only adding, “Smith,” as an afterthought a beat later.

“Shh, don’t speak,” he mutters, clutching her hand tighter.  “They’re coming.  We have to hurry.”

“What?  Who?” she asks, but he doesn’t answer, and she thinks she knows.  _The aliens._

They run to where the path gets flatter, smoother and then up to the front porch of one of the buildings at the edge of town—the schoolhouse, if she’s judging the distance right.  Dr. Smith quickly unlatches the door and drags her inside, slamming it shut behind them.  He pulls her to the middle of the room, and then there is a creak and a _thunk_ , something heavy hitting the floor.  

“Trapdoor,” he explains, guiding her forward, “there’s a ladder down into the cellar.”  He puts her hand on the edge of the opening.  “I’ll go down first and help you.”

She can hear him quickly descend and turns to follow him when she hears another sound.  It’s soft, muted—coming from outside the building, she thinks.  _Growling._

“ _Quickly_ ,” hisses Dr. Smith, tugging her down when she hesitates.  Once she reaches the floor, he scrambles back up the ladder to pull the trapdoor shut.

“No sound,” he whispers, taking her hand.  They both go still and silent, waiting.

Above them, the porch creaks.  There is a long, scratching sound, like something being dragged roughly against the wall.

Rose is conscious of her every breath, of the sound of every heartbeat.  Beside her, Dr. Smith is taking quick, shallow pants, and his palm is sweaty against hers.  The tiny cellar reeks of fear.

The latch of the schoolhouse door clicks open, and Rose takes a small step forward without thinking.  There are footsteps, heavy and with an odd click, like claws tapping on the floorboards, and a dry snuffling sound.  

Something is searching for them, smelling them out.

Rose squeezes his hand, and those familiar fingers squeeze back.  This situation is hardly new for them, but it’s never been quite like this, with both of them so compromised.  Another soft growl comes from above, and Rose clenches her free hand into a fist.  Alright then, she thinks, letting go of his hand and taking another step forward to stand in front of him.  If they want to get to the Doctor, they’re going to have to go through her.

There is another long sniff, just above the trapdoor, and Rose holds her breath.  Then there are more clicking footsteps, but this time, they are moving away.  With a dull thunk, the schoolhouse door closes.

Silence.

She is shaking, she realizes.  Vibrating with fear or the need to move, to grab his hand and _run_ , she can’t tell.

Hands brush the tops of her shoulders, and Rose jumps.

“Shhhh,” he soothes quietly in her ear, stroking fingertips down her arms.  “It’s alright.  They’ve gone past us.  We just have to wait for the all-clear.”

She lets out a long breath.  “Wh-why are they here?  What are they looking for?”

“I don’t know.  Maybe…”  He pauses hesitantly.  “It might be because of you.”

“Me?”

“Anything new, really.  They came shortly after I arrived as well.  But they will leave soon, and all will be well.  Is…”  He pulls his hands back so that she can just barely feel the ghost of them hovering just above her elbows, and when he speaks again, he sounds uncertain.  “Is this alright?”

“Yeah.”  Why on Earth is her voice so breathy?

His voice is soft as his hands return to her arms, fingertips tracing a line from elbow to shoulder and back again over the coarse fabric of her dress.  “Don’t be frightened.  We’re safe here.”  When she doesn’t respond, he asks, “Would it make you feel better if I told you a story?”

Rose lets out a shaky laugh.  “Sure.”

He is quiet for a moment, thinking.  “Would you like to hear about my dreams?  They’re a bit strange, but I think maybe you’d enjoy them.”

She is still listening for any sign of the aliens, trying to concentrate despite the warm sensation of him caressing her arms, but she nods.  Then, realizing that he probably can’t see either, she says, “Dreams, yeah.  Sounds good.”

He hums softly, pleased.  “I’ve had the same one for several weeks now.  Nearly every night, I dream that I am the captain of a ship with bright blue sails, traveling on an infinite sea.”

That gets her attention.  Rose inhales sharply, and he squeezes her shoulder gently, perhaps thinking that she’s still frightened.  Which she is, to be honest, but this is a different sort of fear.  His dream is just a little too close to the truth—is the Doctor leaking through?  Is this normal?  Is he ok?  She asks the first thing that pops into her head, by way of keep him talking.  “And how do you know it’s infinite?”

She swears she can hear him smiling, just a little, as he answers softly.  “Because I traverse every part of it.”

“Ah.”  She nods, thinking quickly.  “You realize that doesn’t really make sense, right?”

“Well, they’re dreams,” he says, voice still soft.  “Such is to be expected.”  

Rose nods again.  “Sure.  Just dreams.”  

“Aren’t you going to ask about my crew?” he asks after a moment.

“Is there a crew?”  She is surprised—his dream seemed so close to reality. 

“Just one.”  He slides his fingers all the way down her arm and takes her hand.  “A most vexing young lady.  She is rather…troublesome.  And blonde.”

A slow smile spreads over Rose’s face.  “Am I on your ship with you?”

He puts some effort into making a shocked sound.  “Miss Tyler, intimating something like that would be very improper of me.”

Rose just grins in the dark.  “So what did _she_ do that’s so…what was it?  Vexing?”

He is quiet a moment.  When he speaks, it’s with an entirely different tone—the teasing is done.  He sounds almost reverent.  “You sat on the prow of the ship as the storm rolled in, right out at the very edge of disaster.  You sat there and laughed, _laughed_ at the size of the waves.”

“M’sorry,” she says softly, even though she’s not totally sure what she’s apologizing for.  But if this dream really is bleeding out of the Doctor’s subconscious, well…

“I tried to call you back.  Tried to take you to a safe port, tried to lash you down to the prow, tried everything to keep you from slipping into that abyss.  But you just laughed.  Like today,” he adds, stroking his thumb over the top of her hand.  “I bring you here to protect you from the Nameless, but somehow _you_ end up standing in front of _me_.  You are the bravest person I know.”

They are quiet for a long moment, and Rose is suddenly very conscious of the fact that they’re alone together in a dark cellar.  Alone with his fingers still caressing hers.  She’s surprised by the urge to return the favor, to explore his hands and wrists and arms bit by bit.

To distract herself, she asks, “They aren’t all like that, are they?  Your dreams?”

He laughs softly.  “No.  Sometimes they are lovely.  We land in a hundred different lands, full of emerald trees and pink sand.  Cities made of ebony and gold.  Each new world more beautiful than the last, can you imagine it?  Sometimes, I even miss my dreams when I’m awake.  I wish…”  He pauses and shifts his grip to thread their fingers together.  “Oh, Rose, I wish I could show you.  I wish I could show you all those wonderful places.”

She blinks, trying to hide a few stray tears that have come with his words.  “Sounds amazing.”

“It is,” he agrees.  “But here now, I’ve been talking for ages.  Go on.  Tell me about one of your dreams.”

“Oh, I don’t really remember them,” she lies, shrugging lightly.  “S’pose it’s just random things, really.”  There’s no good reason not to answer him that last night, she dreamed of doorknobs and clock faces and strange, endless hallways.  Still, she can’t bring herself to tell the truth.  The dreams make no sense, and she’s not sure if they mean anything, but for some reason, they feel like a piece of her old life.  She’s not ready to share them yet.

Before he has a chance to question her further, the bells being to ring again, signaling the all-clear.  They let go of each other, but Rose doesn’t think she’s just imagining his reluctance to leave the cellar.  He escorts her home and lets her go in only after promising to find her cane for her and ordering Mary to brew her a nice, calming cup of tea.  

The next Sunday, Joan is laid up with a head cold.  Dr. Smith arrives early to examine her and determines it’s nothing serious, though he does order a few days of bed rest.

When he comes to the sitting room to tell Rose the news, she frowns.

“Should I stay here to help her, do you think?”

“No, no need,” he says.  “Mary is going to stay and keep an eye on her.  Shall we?”  He sounds unusually cheerful.

“To church, you mean?”

“Yes.  I would…”  He stops, and Rose thinks she hears him swallow.  When he starts again, his voice is light.  “I would be pleased to escort you, Rose.  If you’d like.”

She can’t help but tease him.  “Since your usual walking partner is laid up, you mean?” she asks, tongue in teeth as she stands up. 

He takes her arm, guiding her hand through his elbow slowly and deliberately.  “Anytime,” he answers softly.  “Rose, anytime you like.”  

They start toward the church, chatting over the local village news.

“You do know that Sarah Adams and Michael Bailey are getting married tomorrow?” he asks.  “Should be quite the event.”

Rose laughs.  “You don’t say.  It’s been the only thing Mary’s talked about all week.  She’s got a _new dress_.  I’m told that it is blue—but not just any blue!  The _perfect_ blue.”

Dr. Smith chuckles.  “Well, the young folk enjoy weddings.  Any excuse for a dance, you know.”

“Oh, there’ll be dancing?” she asks, a little wistfully.  

“Yes.  Actually…”  He pauses and sets his hand over hers.  “I’ve been meaning to ask whether there might be any space left on your dance card.”

She’s fairly sure he means a metaphorical dance card.  They’re not supposed to have actual cards, are they?  This, she thinks, is the problem with time travel, at least when you stay in one place for any length of time.  “Yeah, pretty sure it’s empty.  Or, you know, nonexistent.”

Dr. Smith laughs again.  “Well, of course.  They’re not quite up to the London fashions here.”  

He’s quiet for a moment, but she gets the distinct feeling he’s beaming at her.

“What?”

His hand tightens on hers, and his voice is low and pleasant.  “It’s just, you’re always so…forthright.  Never hiding behind a pretense.  I…well, I enjoy it very much.”

Her cheeks are getting hot, from the warmth of his praise or from the sudden rush of shame, she can’t quite tell, because there’s more pretense about her than he could possibly imagine.  “Thanks.”

“Rose.”  He slides his fingers over the top of her hand, curls them under the edge of her palm.  “Will you dance with me tomorrow night?”

Something about the way he says it, so soft and earnest, makes her heart beat faster, and the realization comes in a rush. _She wants to say yes_.  She wants to dance the whole night with him, John Smith.  And not just to keep Joan Redfern away.  She wants his company, wants to feel those hands on her arms again.  And she thinks, based on how one of his fingers is still stroking the side of her wrist, that he might not be opposed to that idea himself.  

This wasn’t part of the plan.  She ought to be focusing on bringing the Doctor back, but she can’t help it.  She’s human, and _she wants_.

Rose opens her mouth to give a reply, but before she can say anything, there’s a snarling sound behind her.  She can hear quick footsteps on the dirt path, and then she shrieks as a hand violently pulls her away from Dr. Smith.

“Isaac!” shouts Dr. Smith.  “Stop!”

“Give her back to me,” growls Isaac, as Rose collides roughly with him.  He sounds so unlike himself that she can hardly recognize the voice of her friend. _But still, there’s something strangely familiar about it_ …

Regaining her footing, Rose twists her arm free.  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

He grabs her hand back, and she can hear his throat working, trying to find the words.  “Hands…together,” he grinds out, roughly twining their fingers.  “Our hands.”

“Let her go,” threatens Dr. Smith.  “Isaac, let her go this instant!”

But this only earns him another snarl.

Rose yanks her hand from Isaac’s again, about to deliver a blistering lecture when she hears him gasp.  Then a sniffle.  And another.

He’s crying.  

“Hold hands,” he chokes out.  “Missed you.”

“Rose, are you alright?”  Dr. Smith’s hands are on her elbows, pulling her back.  “Did he hurt you?”

“‘M fine,” she says absently, listening to Isaac keening as he falls to his knees in the dirt.  “Isaac, are you alright?  What happened?”

“For goodness’ sake, don’t bother with him,” says Dr. Smith with a snort.  “Where is his mother?  He ought to be punished for this sort of behavior.”

“Give it a rest,” says Rose as she kneels down beside her friend.  “Isaac, what’s the matter?”

“Porch,” he whimpers.  “Waited.”  Then, there’s a long shuddering sigh.  “You were gone.”

 “Oh,” says Rose, reaching out a hand, feeling for his shoulder, “I’m sorry.  You’re right; we should have waited for you.”

“Don’t mollycoddle him,” says Dr. Smith, annoyed.  “There’s no excuse for this sort of thing.”

Rose turns in his direction, annoyed herself.  “That’s not fair.  We always walk together, Isaac n’ me.  And then today, I just forgot him.  It’s not his fault—I was the one who was thoughtless.  I’m sorry, Isaac.”

Under her ministrations, Isaac calms down enough to walk the rest of the way, particularly after Rose promises to walk home with him.  Dr. Smith seems unreasonably irritated, though he keeps his thoughts mostly to himself.  Rose, meanwhile, spends quite a bit of time thinking the incident over.

There was something there, something familiar.  If only she could put her finger on it.

That night, she dreams.

_It’s cold.  She tries to burrow deeper under her quilt, but it’s no use—the quilt is gone, the mattress is gone, the room is gone._

_Rose opens her eyes._

_She is lying on the floor of the TARDIS, the cold grating digging into her back.  Overhead, the rough coral walls curve up into a ceiling, forming a long corridor lit by the ship’s roundels._

_There is something in her hands, a bag.  A big, old-fashioned medicine bag, bumping into her knees as she stands up.  “This isn’t where I left my things,” she complains to the walls, and one of the roundels blinks a long, feathery eyelid in apology._

_No matter.  He’ll know where she left it.  He’s always leaving the important things behind._

_She starts to walk, every step tick-tick-tick.  She goes on for ages, over hill and over dale.  The shores of Woman Wept.  Through fields of applegrass from Aberdeen to Croydon, the bag jingling as she goes.  She won’t ever, ever stop._

_When she finds him, he is perched halfway up the gears of a magnificent telescope, mounted on the parapet of a castle and silhouetted against the moon._

_“You aren’t half-hard to chase down,” she complains, looking up.  “I had to look everywhere.”_

_He peers down, tilts his head.  “You sure I’m the one you wanted?”_

_“You look like you,” she observes as he hops down.  “Why wouldn’t you be?”_

_He opens his mouth wide, shows her rows of gleaming, intricate clockwork._

_“Ah, I see.”  She nods thoughtfully.  “That is a problem.”  Considering now, she asks, “You’re not going to cut me into pieces, are you?”_

_“No.” He shakes his head, gears grinding.  “I want you whole.  That’s the point of it all.”_

_“You left me blind.”  With that accusation, the lights go out, leaving nothing but one glowing circle, just over the space where his other heart should be._

_He takes her hands, brings them up to his chest.  “This is me.”  Presses the round, shining jewel into them.  “This is me.”_

_“I can’t see you,” she cries, but as she closes her fingers around its metal surface, it pulses, warm and alive, and the Doctor speaks._

_“Rose.”_

_And there he is at last.  She laughs for joy, seeing him there, secure in her hand.  The Doctor, safely tucked into a…_

“Fob watch!”  

Rose comes awake with a start, sitting straight up in bed and blinking her eyes against the pervasive darkness.  Her fingers curl over her palm, clutching a ghost of the object they’d held.  A fob watch, of all things.  She’s not sure how she’s so certain that the revelation from her dream is true, but there it is.  

The Doctor’s gone and stuffed himself inside a watch.  How, she has no idea—must be one of those weird, alien, Time Lordy things.  It’d almost be funny if she didn’t want to strangle him for it so badly.

But with any luck, it’ll be just a matter of finding it.  She rubs a hand over her face.  Where would it be?  The TARDIS?  It would make a certain sort of sense, keeping it safe there, but considering how hard that might prove to find, she’s hoping not.  Where else, then?  The only other place she can think of is in John Smith’s possessions.  

She’ll just have to casually ask if he has the time.

Rose stifles a slightly hysterical giggle, still giddy from the discovery in her dream.  They’re going to be OK.  They’re going to be able to go home.

She can hardly wait to get started, but after breakfast, she learns that Dr. Smith is busy delivering a baby (which, frankly, she can’t imagine the Doctor doing in a millions years, and yeah, she can’t wait to tease him about it).  She’s tempted to try a little breaking and entering to see if she can find it in his house, but there’s no way she wouldn’t be caught, and she imagines it’d be pretty hard to explain.  

No matter, though.  He’ll be at the wedding dance.  She just has to be patient for a few more hours.  

It’s easier said than done, but finally the afternoon rolls around, and it’s time to get dressed.  Mary had promised to help her get ready.  Rose washes her face and brushes out her hair as best she can while she waits for her to arrive.  Hanging on a hook near her bed is a dress that one of the other girls, Anne, has loaned her for tonight.  It’s yellow, she’s been told, and Anne assured her that it would be “fetching.”  Rose has her doubts—yellow, after all—but beggars can’t be choosers.  It’s just weird, getting dressed up in an outfit that she can’t actually see.

“Ida!  Ida, over here!”  

It’s Mary’s voice, coming from outside, just below the window.  Hopefully she’ll be in soon, but Rose recognizes that tone—the universal sound of teenage gossip.  Mary clearly has some news to impart to her friend.

Rose smiles nostalgically and figures she can wait a few more minutes to let them have their little gab.  In fact, she thinks, she can probably get her dress on herself, now that she’s more familiar with the ties and fastenings.

As she stoops to unlace her boots, she hears the squealing begin.

“Ida, oh my heavenly stars,” says Mary, excitedly.  “You won’t ever guess what just happened.”

Ida is quiet a moment and then offers up, “Victor Crane has complimented you on your new dress!”

“No,” says Mary, a smile in her voice.  “I haven’t seen Victor yet.”

“He is going to love it,” Ida predicts.  “And your new way of braiding your hair is so fetching!”

Inside, Rose grins as she kicks off one boot and starts on the next.  _Fetching._

“Thank you!” says Mary.  “But you still have to guess.”

There is a pause, Ida apparently thinking it over.  “Oh!  Michael Corner has proposed to your sister!”

Mary shrieks, “Ida!” and the girls dissolve into giggles, Mary’s sister’s suitors an apparent source of amusement.

Rose gets her other boot off and stands up to start on the buttons on her dress.  

 “No,” says Mary, still laughing.  “Can you imagine, though?  Mother would throw a fit!”

“Well then, tell me,” Ida implores.  “What is it?”

There is a moment of silence, and Rose works to get the last button undone as Mary gleefully draws out the suspense.

“I was over by the eastern hay field, near where Nurse Redfern has her herb garden,” Mary begins, her voice excited but low, and Rose finds herself moving closer to the window to hear the story as she pulls off her overdress.  “And you’ll never believe what I saw.”

“What?” demands Ida breathlessly.

“Dr. Smith and Nurse Redfern,” says Mary with relish, and then in a hushed voice, “and they were kissing.”


	8. i'm finding it harder to be a gentleman

_There is a moment of silence, and Rose works to get the last button undone as Mary gleefully draws out the suspense._

_“I was over by the eastern hay field, near where Nurse Redfern has her herb garden,” Mary begins, her voice excited but low, and Rose finds herself moving closer to the window to hear the story as she pulls off her overdress. “And you’ll never believe what I saw.”_

_“What?” demands Ida breathlessly._

_“Dr. Smith and Nurse Redfern,” says Mary with relish, and then in a hushed voice, “and they were kissing.”_

 

The dress falls from Rose’s hands with a _whoosh_ to pool at her feet. After a couple of seconds, she realizes her hands are still in the air and lets them fall. The girls haven’t said more as they are still trying to calm their giggles.

The wooden frame squeaks as she shakily lowers herself to sit on the bed. It could have been anything, right? Perhaps he was just leaning close to her, and Mary just _thought_ they were kissing. She did try to make her stories more…interesting. And they weren’t in the most open of societies, either. For all she knew, Mary could have just seen a brotherly peck on the cheek.

Brotherly. Yes.

The girls calm down, and Rose strains to hear if Mary is going to elaborate. “But you must tell me more,” Ida whispers.

“Well,” Mary pauses. “You cannot breathe a _word_ of this, Ida. But I was going to meet the nurse to help her bring the herbs back, and when I walked around the edge of the fence, I saw them standing together in _quite close proximity_.”

“And, and?”

“I hung back to see what would happen. Long has he been walking her to church, you know.”

The sound of a stitch breaking startles Rose. She has pulled the seam out of the glove she had been worrying. Throwing the glove down beside her, she takes in a deep breath. If she weren’t currently eavesdropping, she would have gone down and shook that girl at every dramatic pause.

"And then Dr. Smith took Nurse Redfern’s elbow. They were talking so low; I could not hear what they said. The doctor stopped speaking and then," Mary sighs, "Nurse Redfern brushed her hand on his cheek." At this, Ida squeaks. "And they kissed. _Fully_.”

"Oh, how _romantic_ ,” Ida exhales.

"Surely there will be an announcement tonight." They both titter. "But hurry, I need to get dressed!" Rose hears the rustle of their skirts as the girls scurry off.

Rose’s breathing picks up. The black hole that had inexplicably allowed Krop-Tor to float above them was currently trying to take up residence in the center of her chest. She squeezed her eyes shut, out of habit more than need. Like the child that covers its eyes while playing hide-and-go-seek. _You can’t see me if I can’t see you._

_If I can’t see it, does this mean none of this exists?_

Rose lies back on the bed, curling around her feather pillow. This definitely wasn’t the first time that the Doctor had been caught up with someone. Jabe the Tree had been on their first real trip! And then there had been France…but, they had talked that out. As much as talking out anything with the Doctor could amount to. She knew that he was running, running then, like he always did- but he always came back to her. Would Dr. Smith come back from this?

Would he even want to?

She bites her thumbnail. Seeking her out at every spare minute, the hand-holding, the dreams- what was all of that, then? Passing the time? With open palm, she hits the mattress. Couldn’t be. Without the complications of being an alien traveling all of time and space trapped in a human body without the proper memories, Dr. Smith wasn’t being fair to her. Or, as much as she hates to admit, Miss Redfern.

Soft humming alerts her that she is no longer alone. It stops outside her door, that she had left open as Mary left. “Rose? Whatever are you still doing in bed? You have to leave soon!” The humming resumes as the creaks of the wood floor go the way of Nurse Redfern’s room. Pleased as punch, that one.

The dread sits low in her stomach. The last thing she wants to do now is go dance. She chuckles mirthlessly. Actually, the last thing she wants is to be within ten metres of that man- but that’s neither here nor there. She really needs to find that fob watch, though she has no idea how to even start. What if it was destoyed as the TARDIS crashed? She swallows. Think positive. They’ll find a way out of this scrape. They have to.

As for the awkwardness of the dance, she’s sure that Isaac will want to keep her company. He’d been a lot more insistent of late, especially if Dr. Smith was around. He still had a quiet way about him, so she would have time to think. To figure out her next move.

Or to pretend there would be one.

The next hour passes in something of a fog. Mary never returns to help, but she gets herself into hopefully presentable enough shape. She has the wherewithal to tell Miss Redfern that she was going to walk with Isaac and his mother. As much as she hates to admit it, she knows her jealous streak would come out in full-force, and the last thing she needs to do is cause a scene. Especially if the hunters are already aware of her presence- if she wants to find that watch and get the Doctor back, she has to keep her head down to protect them both. But how can she do that if Dr. Smith is intending to…settle down?

Instead of going to Isaac’s, Rose uses the time to try and organize her thoughts. She knows her way around the village well enough, and the wedding guests are already making enough noise that she could find her way anyway. What should she do? What was the next step? And how could she bleach her mind of the Doctor kissing some blonde _again_? So maybe expecting to figure out everything in a ten-minute walk was being too optimistic.

When she reaches the wedding, Isaac _thankfully_ immediately takes her hand, barring any thoughts that Dr. Smith would try to seek her out. Isaac has been much improved since the incident, but Dr. Smith has been giving him a wide berth to try and keep the peace. Doesn’t want to trigger an episode and ruin a wedding. All the better.

The ceremony is very traditional and very short, and then they are all ushered out to a large gazebo. The entire place is permeated with the smell of a fresh roast and the spicy-sweet of cider being poured. There is a low buzz of everyone talking and eating, but as Rose is with Isaac, there is little in the way of conversation. And the fact that most of the villagers, though kind, still give her a pretty wide berth. Rose’s fork makes a dull sound against the metal of her plate as she pushes the food that Isaac’s mother served for her around. Miriam is kind, but not much of a talker. Words are few and far between, and though Rose would normally be trying to draw her company out, tonight she is glad for the general silence. 

Soon someone strikes up a fiddle and a guitar joins in as she hears the scraping of furniture. Probably clearing the floor to dance. The floor begins to vibrate as the temperature around her steadily rises with the movement of all the people. She hears Mary’s loud giggle over the din, and can’t help the small grin that crosses her face. Despite herself, she also finds herself keeping time with her feet.

Isaac hums along off-key and taps his fingers on her hand to the rhythm. “No secret, no Doctor tonight.”

She turns towards his voice. “Hmm? Oh, no. No, Dr. Smith should be…occupied with someone else tonight.”

He happily hums again. The music for the first dance ends, and Isaac asks, “Drink?”

"That would be lovely, thanks." He pats her hand before she feels him leave her side. The music starts again and her head lightly sways to the music. How much she misses dancing. Not that she would probably be able to immediately keep up with their dances, even if she could see. Probably were some version of those group dances from the films based in the nineteenth century. She bites back a smile at the thought of busting out some version of the "Electric Slide" or the "Macarena." Scandalizing the locals seemed to be par for the course of their travels, but today was definitely not that day.

She feels a hand at her elbow and reaches out with a smile. “Were you able to get me some cider, then?”

"No, I’m sorry, I haven’t any. I could get some for you, if you like." Her smile fades. The voice that answers her is decidedly not Isaac’s, but Dr. Smith’s. His voice is warm and low, the tone that would normally make her lose her train of thought. But instead of her hand tingling where his fingers are brushing, she flexes her fingers to stave off the urge to slap him.

She ignores both impulses and instead slides away from his reach. “Isaac’s already getting me some.”

A pause. “Of course. Do you think-” Another pause, and her dread at the possible questions begins to slowly drop from her chest to her stomach. She’s twisting the handkerchief in her hands so hard, it’s a wonder it isn’t in pieces. “I mean, I know that you may not know all of the, but I’m more than willing to help-” He sighs. “Rose, would you do me the honor-“

At that moment, Isaac returns to her side. “Drink for Rose.”

She stifles her sigh of relief- only barely- and gratefully takes the cup. “Thank you, Isaac.” She turns to the other man. “I’m sorry, Dr. Smith. I’m already taken.”

The silence hangs heavily until she hears a soft, “Right,” followed by footsteps walking away.

How could she want to smack and kiss that man at the same time? She smirks at herself. At least that hasn’t changed.

"Dance, Rose?"

She shakes her head before squeezing Isaac’s hands. “Of course.”

Dancing with Isaac proved to be more like a game of ring-around-the-rosie, but she couldn’t help but laugh as he spun her around through several songs. As he took her hands for another, she waves her hands back and forth.

"Not this one," she gasps as she tries to catch her breath between chuckles. "I need a sit before I can dance again."

"Mmkay." He mumbles around his own laughs. She takes his hand as he leads her to a bench. "Where’s Mama?" he asks.

"Is she not here?"

"No."

"Why don’t you go and ask Mary? She will most likely know."

"You will wait here?"

She pats his hand. “Sure. I’ll wait here.”

Another song plays and ends. As she turns to place the handkerchief she’s been using to dab her forehead on the seat beside her, she can sense someone standing right in front of her. “Were you able to find her, Isaac?”

“Isaac went home with his mother. She was under the weather.” Dr. Smith. Her concern trumps any initial reactions she may have had to his reappearance. “Is she all right?”

“Yes, she’ll be fine. Normal occurrences for a woman of her age.”

Rose nods. Though he doesn’t speak for a couple of beats, she knows he’s still there. Persistent, this one. For being the one with sight, he’s certainly not understanding a brush-off when he sees one. “Well, I’ll just find Nurse Redfern to walk back. If she isn’t otherwise _engaged_.”

If he notices her emphasis, he doesn’t acknowledge it. “Nurse Redfern went with Miriam and Isaac. Her grievances are better served with a woman’s help.”

The fiddler strikes a chord and begins playing solo. She can’t place the music, but it’s familiar. Much slower, more of a folk song than something to dance a jig to. Soon, the guitar joins in. She is about to ask where Mary is when Dr. Smith blurts, “Dance with me.”

She tucks her chin. How to say no? Why couldn’t he just leave it for one night? People had started to leave, not that she cared what anyone thought, but she didn’t need to get in the middle of anything right now. She had to find that watch, and they had to get out of here before things got any worse.

"Please, Rose."

The sincere, quiet plea stops her. “All right.” She musters a small smile. He takes her by the elbow and leads her to the floor. She has no idea what kind of dance they’re about to do, and she’ll probably botch it. Well, if she steps on his toes, he certainly deserves much worse right now.

His left hand tentatively takes her right, fingers adjusting lightly over hers before clasping them. His right hand presses ever so gently into her back, drawing her closer, but with space yet between them. His touch is so hesitant, like he’s afraid she will bolt any minute. A voice with a Northern accent flutters through her mind, _“You have to be…delicate."_ With a step forward, he leads them in a simple box-step, which she easily, instinctually follows. And he’s not a poor dancer.

And therein lies the problem. She feels like one of those plasma balls. Every point that he’s touching her is alight, sparking brilliantly- and she hates herself a little bit for it. She tries to convince herself that it’s involuntary, muscle memory. Just reacting to the Doctor’s touch, even though this man really isn’t the Doctor.

_He isn’t._

The music swells, and his thumb taps against her spine a couple of times before he says, “You’ve been avoiding me.” She purses her lips. “You’ve barely spoken two words to me in these past few hours. Have I done something to offend you?” When she doesn’t answer immediately, he laughs self-deprecatingly. “Of course, I never seem to say the right thing around you.”

She takes in a shuddering breath. “I don’t want to talk about this now. ‘S not appropriate.” She steps back out of his arms, the brief spell broken. “Where’s Mary? I want to leave.”

"She’s already left…as have all but a few people." She’d been so focused on him, on _them_ , that she hadn’t noticed that the buzz of conversation had dwindled to those that were cleaning up. The guitarist is plunking out a little ditty, most likely just a tune to amuse himself or herself as the others finished.

He tries to take her hand, the pads of his fingers barely passing over her skin, and she quickly pulls away. Again, he takes her hand more firmly, this time pushing her cane into her hand before letting go. She bites her lip against the instinctive apology and instead raises her chin.

"Come on," he takes her elbow again to lead her, and this time she lets him. The sounds of the clean up gives way to cicadas and frogs, with the occasional dog bark. Dr. Smith, however, remains silent and is no longer touching her.

They are still a ways from Nurse Redfern’s when he breaks the silence. “Allow me to make things right, Rose. I don’t like quarreling with you…especially when I don’t know what exactly we’re quarreling about.”

Silence is going to be his only answer for a few minutes, if only because she isn’t sure how exactly to respond. She wonders if her heel in his instep, or as best as she could judge where it was without seeing it, would be an apt answer. She stifles a giggle at the thought of looking for his foot with her cane before moving to step on it. But really, what right has she to be jealous? It’s not like she wants this…copy, anyway. It just wasn’t fair to Nurse Redfern. Even though, deep down, she knew she wouldn’t mind putting the nurse in her place. Just a little.

They reach Nurse Redfern’s porch and the crunching of gravel beside her stops. “Rose, we’re friends, yes?”

She turns towards his voice. “…yeah.”

“Good, because I value your companionship.” She hears the gravel shift. “No. No, more than that.”

She taps her cane to her right, finding the ledge of the porch so she can sit down. He sits down beside her, and she can feel the vibration of him bouncing his knee. She turns toward him and then gasps. She can feel him so close to her now, his warmth near her face, the way she can hear his mouth open before he speaks.

“Before you came, I feel like I was…floating aimlessly here. And then you appeared. And you’re- so different. Alive. In the face of things that would make others quit, you keep on. The way you are with Isaac…the way you look out for everyone around you.” His hand gently comes to cover hers resting on the porch. “Such a warm heart.” The hand that had been resting on hers tilts her chin up. “I-I would very much like to,” the fingertips of his other hand are barely touching her temple and cheek as he murmurs, “Kiss you.”

With that last sentence she realizes that her eyes had been closed in anticipation. Remembers why she was mad at him in the first place. She abruptly bats his hand off her cheek. “I thought that was between you and Nurse Redfern.” When he doesn’t reply, she nods tersely before going into the house.

When she finally makes it up into her room, she doesn’t even undress. She just lays down on the bed, curling into a ball. Wishing sleep would come to alleviate the dull ache. And so she wouldn’t have to think.

She lays there, and her mind keeps shifting between her dreams, trying to figure out how she’s going to find the watch and right this mess, and replaying the words of the entire evening in her head. How could he have gone and fallen for the nurse, but he’s still trying to- the grandfather clock downstairs begins its melody signaling an hour change, and she shifts, wondering what time it is. She reckons they had left the party a little after eleven. Bong. Well, it’s now one in the morning.

She leans back to her pillow with a sigh. _Ping!_ She rolls to her side towards the noise. _Ping! Ping!_ Pebbles on her windowpane. Isaac. She trudges over to her window, sliding it up. “Go home, Isaac,” she whispers loudly. “It’s one in the morning!”

“Rose?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dialogue from the _Doctor Who_ episode "Dalek."


	9. in the cold, cold night

_She leans back to her pillow with a sigh. Ping! She rolls to her side towards the noise. Ping! Ping! Pebbles on her windowpane. Isaac. She trudges over to her window, sliding it up. “Go home, Isaac,” she whispers loudly. “It’s one in the morning!”_

_“Rose?”_

Dr. Smith. She takes a small step back as she recognizes the voice. “What are you doing?” she hisses. “It’s one in the morning!”

“So you said! I couldn’t leave things like that between us.”

She leans back from both hands on the sill, head between her arms, before straightening up again. “Couldn’t this wait until morning?”

“No!”

“I’m pretty sure it can!”

“I want to make things right, now! I won’t be getting any rest until I can reconcile with the woman I love, even if I have to stand out here all night!”

She gasps, stumbles back, and fumbles to get her cane. Before her brain even reconnects with her body, she’s already out the door. It’s a good thing she can’t see, otherwise he’d be a bloody pulp by the time she’s done with him. She makes her way off the porch around the house.

“Rose?” He’s getting closer, so she swipes her cane in front of her, barring him. He yelps softly, and she hears the crunch of grass, probably him leaping back.

“How dare you!” The anger is rolling off her in waves, making her tremble. “What on earth am I supposed to do with that?” _And I had to hear this from you when you’re not even yourself._

“These aren’t ideal circumstances, I know, but-”

“You’d better explain yourself!”

“I will!” After a beat, he replies, a little more placatingly, “Could we walk? I mean, I’d prefer it if we weren’t within earshot.”

She clenches her jaw before nodding. If Nurse Redfern were to wake and see them, it wouldn’t be good for anyone. They walk in relative silence until they reach the river. She settles on her rock, and she hears him settle on the grass nearby. When he doesn’t speak, she begins tapping her cane against the rock. More to relieve her muscle tension than anything else. His hand tentatively covers hers before removing the cane. She pulls back, and it clatters to the ground.

“Rose, I am sorry. I shouldn’t have announced my feelings in that manner.”

“That isn’t enough.”

“I know. I wish it were.”

She tries to swallow past the lump in her throat before asking softly, “Do you love Nurse Redfern, too?”

“What?” he splutters. “No, most definitely not. Actually, I’m at a loss to know why you think I do.” His voice rises in pitch as he sounds more indignant. “I was sitting there in shock when you ran inside!”

“You kissed her! And the walking to church, and she-” She closes her eyes, not wanting to think of how jealous she sounds right now. When he doesn’t respond, she continues, “Mary saw you both.”

“…oh.” He says, very quietly. “It wasn’t what you think, Rose.”

“Mary seemed to think it was.”

“Look,” she hears the scratch of fingers through hair, “Nurse Redfern has been the only friend I’ve made since first arriving here. And she’s had a rough time of it, herself. What Mary saw was an unintentional occurrence. We had been talking, and she had been explaining how it had been since losing her fiancé. I have…known loss.” He clears his throat. “And I was trying to give her some measure of comfort. Let her know that I knew what it feels like. Before I realized it, she was kissing me.”

Rose worries her lip, curling her knees up to her chest.

“I know it wasn’t fair, believe me. I’ve been self-flagellating over it since that moment. But it was comfort imparted between us. And when I realized that she was taking more from it than I meant, I broke away.” She hears him closer to her than before. “Rose, please. I promise, I don’t feel anything more for her than friendship.”

“Did you explain that to her?”

“Er- not as such. I couldn’t bear-” he pauses, “I couldn’t bear to hurt her when she was so vulnerable.”

She scoffs. “Typical. You think that letting this go won’t hurt her worse in the long run?”

“I know. And I will make it right immediately.” His eagerness makes her want to believe him, to forgive him, but she’s still wary.

“Can you ever forgive me, Rose?”

She lets out a puff of air. Can she? “I’m not the one who you need to be apologizing to.”

“I know. But can we- can we move past this?”

A part of her doesn’t want to forgive him. For that matter, she doesn’t want to move past the fact that the Doctor left her in the first place, sticking her in this situation. And how much it just plain _hurts_ that the first real, honest apology she receives from him that doesn’t involve a lot of evasion and a lot half-made sentences is in the middle of this, from Dr. Smith and not the Doctor himself. But…she really does have no claim on this man, human or Time Lord.

She draws in a shuddering breath. “I’d like to think so.”

He moves to take her hand, but as she feels his hand on hers, she draws back, and he doesn’t press. “Good.” She hears movement, as if he is standing. “Here, will you walk some more with me? I’d like to take you somewhere.” She again feels him trying to take her hand to help her up, and this time she accepts. Once she’s standing, he loops her hand tentatively through his arm. She rolls her eyes before gently squeezing it, letting him know it’s all right. She can almost feel that grin radiating off him, and it hurts how much she misses seeing it.

They come to the edge of the forest, a little farther than she remembers being, and then he takes her off a path into long grass. 

"Where are we going?"

"Oh, one of my favorite haunts. I know you can’t, weeell- I know you won’t see it, but I thought you might want…"

She merely tightens her grip on his arm and smiles. He’s put his foot in it enough tonight for her to keep punishing him. “Why don’t you describe it to me?”

"Nope," he pops the ‘p’. "I want _you_ to describe it to me.”

She lets go of his arm and gives him what she hopes is a withering look.

"Come on!" his voice hits that higher octave that is oh-so-familiar. "I want to experience this through you, too. Just because I see it doesn’t mean that I will notice everything you can." She feels his hand lightly take hers lest she pull it away quickly. "Please?"

With a beleaguered sigh, she nods as she threads her fingers through his. “Well, what do you want me to tell you?”

"All of it."

She rolls her eyes. “Well, I know we’re in long grass.” She lets go again of his hand to tentatively step forward. “If you let me bump into something, I’m gonna kill you.”

He chuckles. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

She crouches down, palm facing the ground to feel the grass. She pulls a blade through her fingers, finding that it had a soft, thick top. “I bet this is pretty when the breeze blows past.” Raising the grass to her chin, she absentmindedly brushes it back and forth. “That was one of my mum’s favorite views- the wind blowing through tall grass. Like waves on the sea. We never had much money for holidays, and she hated the sand anyway. But we always went for picnics near parks with long grass.” She lightly tosses the blade away, trying to keep from letting those thoughts get to her. “Sure you know what kind of grass that was with all your extensive herbalist knowledge,” she teases.

"It’s reed-grass," he explains, refusing to be baited.

"Ah. Well, keep going then?" She sniffs the air. The muggy moisture of early summer is making the short hairs of her neck curl. "I can smell the- is that honeysuckle?"

"There are a few of the plants around us, yes."

“‘S almost…heavy. Kind of similar to when you get stuck in a lift with some woman with no sense of smell and loads of perfume.”

"A…lift? What is that?"

She curses internally. “It’s…it’s another word for a carriage.”

"Mmm. Curious. Well, I was never much for keeping up with the times."

"So I’ve noticed." She grins before she turns to where she senses his presence. "Is there a clear path in front of me for a few paces?"

"A couple hundred meters, maybe. Why?"

She doesn’t answer, and instead takes off running. Her limbs groan after the weeks of disuse, but she feels more herself than she has since this whole thing began. That’s one of the things she hates most about the whole bleeding mess. She could run from monsters with the best of them.

You can’t run from being blind.

You can’t run from your best friend not being the same man.

But, for these few precious minutes, she pretends.

The air rushes past her ears, drowning out all other sound.

She steps wrong on a clod of dirt and loses her footing, falling forward. She catches herself on her hands inches above the ground.

"Rose! Are you all right?" He is now running towards her. After a split-second of self-assessment, the absurdity of a blind girl running willy nilly gets to her, and she starts to giggle as she rolls to her back.

He reaches her and he sounds close. She feels the vibrations in the ground and assumes he is kneeling beside her. “What on earth were you thinking? Did you lose what little sense you had to begin with?”

His lack of jest just makes her laugh even harder.

She hears a huff and then a soft thud beside her. “What are you doing?”

"Since you decided to become completely ridiculous, I thought I would lie here and wait it out." The previous edge of concern to his voice has softened. "Besides, it’s a clear night. All of the stars are out."

"Tell me about them."

"You aren’t finished telling me what you sense."

She snorts. Both of them are stubborn pieces of work- but all this is more like her pesky Doctor. “Fiiiine.” She lets her heart rate settle, lets the pounding in her ears give to the other sounds around her. “The crickets and cicadas are so noisy. It took me more than a week to get used to them.” A beat passes and he doesn’t respond, and she blurts, “Try not to think about the silence, though.”

"Why?"

She lies there quietly for a few seconds and hears the crinkle of starched cotton. Probably facing her. “I never knew how loud silence can be.”

His hand takes hers confidently- the Doctor’s natural, yet firm grip. She brushes her thumb over his, trying to retain nonchalance so he won’t know how affected she is by it.

Just holding hands- nothing serious, right? She closes her eyes. She just feels so… _alone_. And here’s a man who obviously wants her- and isn’t afraid to go for it.

But how much of that is actually the Doctor? Is he even in there at all? Or is she falling for a shadow just because he’s willing to give her more?

They continue to lay in silence, hands clasped. After a minute or two passes, Dr. Smith speaks. “Ursa Major and Ursa Minor are out tonight.”

"The Dippers?"

She hears him shift towards her. “You’ve studied astronomy?”

"Oh, just picked up a little here and there."

"Tonight there’s Aquila, Saggitta, and Cygnus." With each one, he lifts the hand she’s holding and points towards the star clusters. "Three of the summer constellations. Then there’s Vega. Brilliant star. It’s from the Lyre Constellation. A reference to Orpheus."

They lay there, the cacophony of the night the only noise. Before she could overthink the consequences she asks, “Who did you lose?”

His grip tightens on her hand. She runs her thumb over the top of his hand- trying to soothe, or as an apology, if need be. “There was a girl. And I-” he clears his throat. “I didn’t say, and I hope she knew. I was going to lose her. I just couldn’t stay…she deserved better.”

“What happened to her?” she whispers, afraid to interrupt too loudly.

“She, she…”

When his words fail, she leans her other arm over to rub his arm above where she’s holding his hand. She decides to change the subject. “Wasn’t Orpheus the bloke that went to the Underworld after his wife?”

"Yes. And didn’t trust her enough to come after him. The moment before they would have been safe, he lost her. His own folly." He has let her hand go.

She allows him a few minutes, as it seems he is still wrapped up in his manufactured past. How much of that was real? Did he leave his planet because of a girl? She shakes her head, trying to clear it. “I remember thinking that the constellations never much looked like the stories they were supposed to tell.”

"Weeeeelll, you know how it is. People always look for their favorite stories in things. Always look for…connections." With the last word, his fingers begin to brush along the veins in her wrist. "A way to pull everything in their lives together." His fingers continue to trip lightly along until his palm ghosts over hers. Rose tries to keep her breathing steady. "Aren’t we all just stories in the end?" He finally laces his fingers through hers again, but draws her hand towards him and they hover for a second before she feels the press of his lips upon her fingers.

This is wrong.

This isn’t the Doctor.

She can’t be falling for this doppelgänger.

This is wrong.

She jerks her hand away, jumping to her feet and unsteadily walking away.

"Rose?"

She turns to face where she thinks he’s standing. “I—” Words fail her.

All she hears is a soft click of him swallowing before his hands are on her elbows and his lips are pressed to hers. They’re gone almost as quickly as she realizes what is going on. He’s also gone, the only evidence that he is still nearby is his labored breath.

_Don’t want to be alone anymore._

She reaches out towards him, fingers grasping the air in front of her. “Doctor?” As she moves to drop her hand back to her side, crestfallen, it catches on the cotton of his shirt. She holds the fabric and uses it to guide herself closer. He stands, as still as a statue, not touching her.

She lays her other hand on his chest, right over his single, rapidly thrumming heartbeat. The other hand mirrors on the other side of his chest. The cicadas fade to the background until all she hears is his breath, his heart. She allows her hands to slowly slide up until they reach the skin of his neck. Slightly sticky from the humidity. The beginnings of stubble start mid-neck, and her fingertips catch a little as they continue up. When her palms are cupping his cheeks, she stops.

"You called me ‘Doctor,’" his voice rumbles in his lowest register. With each syllable, she feels his breath on her face.

She allows a small smile. She lifts her hands so just her fingertips are resting on his face. This would be pushing it with the Doctor- but she isn’t going to waste this excuse to do something she had only dreamt of doing.

"Can I touch- ?"

Her arms move slightly as he nods.

Her fingers start at his forehead, lightly sweeping through the fringe that is still, to her delight, a mess. From his hair to his skin, from skin to those eyebrows. The one on the right arches impossibly high, and she bites her lip against a grin. As her fingers slide lower and touch his temples, he breathes in sharply. Dancing in, her fingers are tickled by his lashes. She allows just her index finger to trace the line of his nose. Her left hand comes to rest on the side of his neck, her fingernails scratching through the short hairs. Her touch traces his high cheekbones, continuing along to his jawline until she reaches his chin. She traces up the cleft and pauses before reaching his lips.

Oh, what she would give to see his eyes right now.

She hesitantly touches his bottom lip. As she begins to trace along them, she feels them part, feels the heat of his breath. Her fingers finish a circuit, and both her hands are at either side of his face, where they began.

A breathless moment.

He cups the back of her head as she tugs his face down. There is no finesse, no delicacy from earlier in the night. He’s…everywhere. Her senses caught up in just him. His left arm wrapping around her back, his right hand tangling in her hair. Smelling the tang of sweat, harsh soap, and peppermint. The rigid plateaus of his shoulder blades, the catch of his stubble against her cheeks. All in the midst of the way his lips contour to hers.

When her hair falls from the clasp, tugged loose by his fingers, they both draw back, panting. His lips lean against her forehead, not really a buss, but not without pressure as his breath warms her skin cooling in the night air. His nose burrows into her hairline, and her arms reflexively tighten around his thin waist. She shifts so her head is on his chest, burying her face to suppress a contented sigh.

A twig snapping brings them out of their little bubble. A couple more snaps cause the Doctor, _Dr. Smith_ , she corrects, to wrap his arms again around her waist, placing her slightly behind him. Her fingers press into his shirt, a warmth spreading in her chest despite the fear. He was now protecting her. She shook her head, willing away the fluttery feelings.

What if the hunters, the ‘Nameless,’ had found them here out in the open?

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

After a tense moment, nothing has happened. But she’s not about to risk it further.

"Best be getting back, yeah?" She tries to keep the tremor from her voice.

He takes her hand and starts leading her back to the village.

When they get back to Nurse Redfern’s, she expects that he will try to kiss her again. A little distance from the situation, and now she isn’t sure what she wants. When they reach the porch, he brings her fingers that are intertwined with his up and again kisses them.

“Goodnight, Rose.”

He holds her hand as he backs away, and she finds that she doesn’t want to let go, either. When her arm is held at full length, she finally lets her fingers slip from his.

“Night.”

She tries to make as little noise going up the stairs as possible. Once she’s down to her shift, she climbs into bed. But there’s no way she’s going to sleep after that night. After everything that’s happened. Especially since she needs to figure out…

The sunlight warms her face. She groggily leans forward, trying to smooth the haystack she can feel on the top of her head. This is the first time she’s had a dreamless sleep since arriving. And her head isn’t letting her forget that fact. She cleans herself up a little at the washbasin before going downstairs to scrounge up some breakfast. Usually Nurse Redfern leaves her a piece of fruit before heading out that morning, but she must have been called away. The clock chimed the hour while she was dressing. Nine. Late for her now, but she had been out until almost three the last evening.

She is cutting some bread she found to munch on when there is a knock at the door. She wipes her hands on her apron before heading to the door and opening it.

“Hello?” she asks when the person doesn’t say anything. She feels familiar fingers lace between hers. She can’t help the beam that spreads across her face.

“Run!”

Before she can react, Dr. Smith is pulling her out the door and around behind the house. When they stop, she leans against the wall, panting. “What’s going on? Is something wrong?”

“No.” His hands frame her face, thumbs smoothing over the apples of her cheeks. “Quite the opposite, in fact.” Before she can respond, his lips cover hers.

The kiss is short and sweet, much more like the first kiss she always imagined they would have had that didn’t involve a life-threatening situation.

He takes a step back, his hands rubbing her upper arms. “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do that. It feels like years.”

She lifts a hand, seeking his face, and he leans into her palm. Her thumb traces the corner of his wide smile, which she matches. Opening her mouth to speak, she is interrupted by the rumble of her stomach.

She shrugs. “I haven’t had my breakfast yet.”

His giggle is so close to the Doctor’s, her heart clenches. She is once again pulled into a brief kiss before he leads her back around the front of the house.

“You go eat your breakfast. I need to make a few calls in this area anyway.” When they come to the front of the house, he lets go of her hand. “May I come ‘round later? We could maybe go for a walk.”

“I’d like that.” She tucks her chin, hoping that the blush she feels creeping into her cheeks isn’t as apparent to him in the morning light.

“Good morning, Miss Tyler.”

She gives him a light shove. “I’ll see you later.”

The morning goes by much as usual, her doing what little chores Nurse Redfern has allotted her. The thought of the woman makes her feel quite guilty now. Hopefully Dr. Smith is a man of his word and took care of it this morning. Though, it would make for very awkward living arrangements. But maybe she’d be adult about it.

At least, she hopes the nurse would be.

Rose is cleaning up the dishes when a sharp pain shoots through her skull. The dish she is holding falls into the tub with a clatter as she digs the heels of her palms into her temples. After a couple of deep breaths the pain subsides, and she opens her eyes to a fuzzy, white blur.

She can see something.

_She can see!_

Trembling fingers work at the knot in her apron. She has to go and find the Doctor and tell him the good news. The white blur shifts in brightness as she moves, and she figures that it’s the change of intensity of light through the house.

_She can see!_

She takes her cane and immediately goes off in the direction of the Doctor’s house. Not wanting the villagers to try and hinder her is the only thing keeping her from breaking out into a full run. Once she reaches his house, she bounds up the steps and to the door. When she goes to knock, she finds that it’s already open.

“Doctor! Doctor, come quickly!”

She walks further into the house, knowing that he still had a tendency to get wrapped up in his work and do silly things like leave doors wide open. As she reaches forward, her foot knocks into something soft. A tiny moan makes her stop. Did an animal get in here?

As she backs up, she kneels down, trying to see what little she can. She reaches out and touches…clothing. The white blur she sees darkens as she looks down.

She reaches out and realizes it’s a person on the floor. The starched cotton, the arm, the long fingers that she knows almost as well as her own- she begins to shake his shoulder. “Doctor.” Nothing. “Doctor! What’s happened?” She reaches across his chest, trying to find his face. Her hand touching the fabric is suddenly warm and sticky.

All she can see is…red.

Rose screams.


	10. a martyr for my love for you

_Not round not metal not it not it not it not it._

_The papers crinkle under her frantic hands._

_No no no no no NO NO NO NO._

_Fire burns through her palm as something slashes through it. She screams, a primal wail, slamming her unharmed hand down on the tabletop. What was the point? Swiping her arms across the desk, she knocks everything to the floor before falling to her knees, choking back a sob._

_“What on earth-?”_

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Screaming. She knows it is hers, despite the fact that she feels like it is all happening to someone else. Hands lifting under her arms, steadily dragging her while she thrashes and kicks her feet. She can only hear broken whispers, snatches of words that filter through. “Isaac” and “knife” and “in shock.” She stops resisting being taken away from the Doctor, stops moving completely.

_Isaac did this._

She knows that he is jealous of her, that he doesn’t like the attention she had been giving Dr. Smith. But was he capable of this? Nothing of this makes sense. Bits hastily shoved together despite their jagged edges not fitting.

“Where is Isaac?” she whispers. “Where is he?” she then shouts, grasping the arm of the man who has finally let her go.

“Miss Rose, you cannot see him now.” Elder McCoy. She moves in the direction of the Murrays’, and the elder takes her firmly by the shoulders. “He’s being watched, do not worry.”

She resists half-heartedly before slumping, tears finally brimming over her eyelids. What would she have done? Killed him? Slapped him until it never happened in the first place?

…no. She needed to get back to the Doctor. _The Doctor._

The watch.

_The watch so he can regenerate._

She shrugs out from under Elder McCoy’s grasp and begins running towards the Doctor’s house, arms outstretched to keep from running into anything. His house is mercifully close, and her legs bump into his porch. She frantically runs her palm along the edge and bounds up as she finds the stairs.

She reaches out her hand to allow the wall to guide her, turning sharply to the left to go into the office where the spent most of his time. Catching herself multiple times, she ignores the many things littering the floor that cause her to almost fall. She immediately goes for his desk, praying that the watch is somewhere inside or on top of it.

As she grasps at everything on the desktop, she tries to use what little sight she has to guide her motions. The white blur is now fuzzy shapes, but not clear enough for her to truly distinguish anything. He’s upstairs fighting for his life, and she has to help him! In her haste, her hand catches on a letter opener and is sliced open. She howls in pain before knocking everything to the ground in frustration. Slumping to the ground, tears fill her eyes until a voice calls her back.

Nurse Redfern. Rose draws the sleeve of her dress under her nose and rocks back to rest on her feet. She expects a long lecture or at least disdain.

“What are you looking for, Rose?” The nurse’s voice is strained, still obviously in shock.

Need the help. “A watch.”

There’s the rustling of papers being moved. “A- watch? Like a pocket watch? Whatever for?”

She knows that she has nothing to prove her and the Doctor’s story to this woman. “It’s…it’s an heirloom of his. Something of comfort for him.” Her voice cracks. “He _needs_ it.”

Joan sniffs. “Well, I’ve never seen this watch.”

Rose’s eyes close.

“But I’ll send Mary over to help you. I can’t spare a moment. Came for some thread.” The nurse’s skirts swish about the room as she looks for whatever of the Doctor’s supplies she needs. “Thankfully one of the elders had previous military experience in field dressing wounds. Though I don’t know if he can-” Another sniff. “He _has_ to.”

Rose reaches out, hoping to impart some empathy, perhaps receive some, but Joan is already gone.

Mary comes into the office just scant seconds later. She’s thankfully silent. Rose probably looks a shock, but it doesn’t matter. All that matters is finding that bloody watch.

After tearing apart every room of the Doctor’s small cottage, outside of the one where his fate is currently being decided- but it’s not here. He could have lost it in the crash or the subsequent months he was here before she arrived.

What now? There’s no way for her to find the TARDIS as the villagers refuse to even near the edge of the forest, and she certainly can’t find it on her own. And it looks like the watch has been lost in the chaos of this whole mess. If he dies while human, does that mean he won’t-?

Rose refuses to go home to clean herself up but allows herself to be led outside to a rocking chair. They won’t let her be with the Doctor, but she will stay as close as she can- can’t leave him.

She jolts as an unfamiliar hand takes hers and places a cup of water in it. “Drink up, Miss Tyler.”

She blearily places the voice, long after the woman has left her side. Elder Brahme’s wife. The skin of her hand feels like it’s cracking, flaking away. But it’s not, it’s that cut, and a bit of his…she hasn’t cleaned up yet. Her eyes slide shut, the blissful dark easing the headache that the white blur has begun to give her.

The clack of leather heels against the boards of the porch nears her. “Miss Rose?”

Mary. She finally takes a sip of the water, trying to wet her chalk-dry mouth to loosen her tongue.

“Are you all right, Miss Rose?”

“…I don’t know,” she says, voice barely above a whisper.

“Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“No.”

A pause. The boards creak a little. “I’ll go and see if the nurse needs anything.”

A few moments later, she recognizes Joan’s step. She leaps to her feet. “How is he?”

“I don’t know if he’ll make it.” A dull burn starts in Rose’s chest, her breathing becomes ragged. “We’ve stopped the bleeding, and none of his internal organs were severely damaged, but,” she takes in a deep breath. “He’s lost a tremendous amount of blood. And we don’t have the resources we could to fight infection should he get it.”

Rose feels her own face fall, but- “Wait, did you say ‘could’?”

Joan takes her elbow, tugging her along. She leads her off the porch and around the side of the house. Rose is so bewildered at the action, she complies. The nurse abruptly stops.

“There is medicine. Outside. Medicine that could save Dr. Smith.”

Rose blinks rapidly. “What?”

“You know- _outside_.” She emphasizes this word like Rose should know its significance, but Rose just nods once so she’ll continue. “I can make a list of what is needed, and maybe the elders would let you go.”

“But what about the forest? Not leaving the village? I don’t know if they-“

“Miss Redfern? Nurse?” Elder Brahme’s voice carries from the front of the house.

“Yes, Elder?

“I believe the doctor needs something more to sedate him. He’s too restless.”

“Yes, sir.” She hears the nurse pass beyond her.

This may be her chance. “Elder?”

“Yes, Miss Tyler?”

“Let me go beyond the village.”

A pause, but she hears the crunch of grass come nearer to her. “What did you say?”

“Is there a way for me to go beyond the woods for medicine?”

“No. It’s not possible. Even if it were, if the,“ he clears his throat, “even if the Nameless did not exist, outside of our village is not safe.”

She clenches her fists, trying to keep her voice calm. “You don’t understand. I _have_ to save the Doctor.”

“We’re doing all we can to help-“

“No!” She doesn’t care if it isn’t proper to stand up to authority here. “If there is a chance- if there is _any_ way for me to save him, then you all can’t stop me.”

The elder doesn’t immediately respond. She begins to panic, worried that she’s ruined the only chance she had of saving him. “Please,” she asks brokenly. “Please let me try to help him. I don’t know what I would do if…”

He still says nothing.

She instinctively draws her hands, still crusted with blood, through her hair. She’s just so tired. Grasping at her last shred of hope.

She goes to walk back to the porch when his voice stops her.

“I will talk to the other elders.”

In her shock, she isn’t able to respond before he is gone.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

A good cleaning up helps to raise her spirits a little. As much as they can be under the circumstances. They still won’t let her be with him, but Joan said that he was doing as well as could be under the circumstances.

_You have to hold on for me._

So many tears, so many prayers have been said since this all began. She knows she’ll eventually have to rest, but her brain hasn’t stopped speeding around in circles. More often than not, she catches herself tapping her cane against the nearest surface while she waits to hear from the elders.

Rose is absently rocking when a boy runs up to fetch the nurse to talk to the council.

She jumps to her feet. “I’ll go get her.”

She runs to the Doctor’s bedroom. “Nurse Redfern! The council wants to speak with you!”

“All right. I suppose I can be away from him for a few minutes.”

“May I stay with him?” she asks, voice barely audible.

“Of course.”

She tentatively feels for the edge of the bed and then uses it to guide her up. She glides her fingers up the quilt until they bump into his fingers. So cold. She grasps his hand gently and tries not to start crying when his fingers don’t instinctively lace with hers.

After a few horrible moments of listening to his faint breathing, she whispers, “You have to get through this.” She smiles, trying to replicate their banter. “You promised my mum you would always bring me home.” The weak grin falls from her face as his voice doesn’t immediately overlap hers. Hot tears track down her face, dripping to her lap.

The next words hoarsely carve their way up her throat. “Doesn’t matter what face you’re wearing, Time Lord or,” she swallows, “or human. You are my home.”

Though the position is awkward, she lays down beside him, resting her cheek on his hand.

It’s there that Nurse Redfern finds her. “Rose?”

She had dozed off for just a moment. Remembering where she is, she sits up as gingerly as possible. “Yes?”

“The council has agreed to let you go.”

Rose stands, reaching forward. Joan takes her hand, albeit loosely. “Thank you.”

Joan sniffs and pats Rose’s hand once before dropping her own. “Come, we’ll have to get you ready.”

While she changes into clothes more suitable for traveling, Joan describes to her the directions to get through the woods. She will be wearing a color to denote her as a non-threat to the Nameless, who should allow her safe passage then.

The elders did not want to make it generally known that they supported her going into the woods, so Nurse Redfern would have to merely point her in right direction before leaving her.

They reach the edge of the village. “Just keep walking straight from here into the woods. Remember what I told you,” Joan whispers.

Rose nods.

“Get the medicine for him, Rose. He’s relying on you now.”

Rose reaches her hand out, which the nurse takes. A look of confusion crosses Rose’s face as she realizes that Joan has shoved a piece of paper in her hand.

“Everything you need.” Joan gives it a firm shake before letting go.

Rose then hears the crackle of leaves denoting the nurse’s departure.

She leans over to pick up her cane from the ground, the familiar wood now an odd comfort to her. She runs her thumb over the smooth, flat sides until she reaches the top and stops. There are new little ridges there. She runs her fingertips along them, trying to decipher the words or the picture. It’s a…rose. And a pretty intricately carved one, at that. Who would have-?

A lump fills her throat. That night. The night that they talked by the river, she had dropped her cane and not picked it back up. He must have gone back to retrieve it- that was the reason he came back that morning. He probably didn’t sleep at all that night as he did this for her… Tears blur her limited vision as she leans forward and covers her mouth, barely stifling a sob.

She roughly swipes away the tears that have fallen. She has to get moving.

The cloak they have given her is woolen and extremely heavy. It feels like the outside has been treated to help weatherproof it. She can make out that it is a bright, goldenrod yellow. The elders have given her something round and heavy like an old coin with a small piece of paper they said would denote where she’s from and who she is should she run into any trouble. She can’t make heads or tails of the design. She tucks it into the pack along with the list of medicines she needs and the provisions she’s been given.

A wind rustles the leaves above her. She’d made it through the forest blind and alone, right? She is prepared this time around.

Rose covers her head with the hood. Squaring her shoulders, she steps into the forbidden wood.


	11. i'm slowly turning into you

It’s cool in the shade of the trees. 

Above her head, breezes play in the canopy, making branches creak and leaves dance.  Underfoot, the feathery tips of ferns brush against her ankles.  The air is loamy with the scent of damp earth and decaying wood.

It’s beautiful, almost certainly, but now, all she can think is that it feels endless, and she has so little time.  Rose wipes a bit of spider’s web from her brow with a filthy hand, checks that the sun is still to her left.  Got to keep moving.

According to Joan Redfern’s instructions, if she heads north, she’ll come to an enormous blackberry thicket.  She’s should skirt it to the west until she finds the bank of a dry riverbed, walk along that until the ground becomes marshy, and then turn and go directly west until she crosses a path going northwest.  It will lead her to two great standing stones and the way out of the forest.

Rose has no idea how long it will take, but every delay is maddening.  There’s a clock ticking away inside her head as she travels.  Seconds slip past like drops of blood, spilling, pooling into minutes and hours.  She could swear she’s spot on, too—a perfect timepiece.  A metronome, tallying footsteps and shallow breaths and every one of his remaining heartbeats.

_How do you do that_ , she’d asked him once, when he’d rattled off the time like it was nothing. 

The Doctor had rolled his blue eyes, shrugged in his leather jacket.  _Eh, it’s easy,_ he’d said. _I just count how many times you blink._   Then he’d grinned that bigger-than-life grin, grabbed her hand, and off they’d run.

She’d asked him again, later.  Several times, actually, and the answer was always the same—he’d say that he’d been keeping track of how often she tapped her feet or bit her fingernails or, if he was being particularly grumpy, wandered off. 

After the regeneration, she’d gone a long time without bringing it up.  In the wake of him changing his face and then Sarah Jane and all that, the last thing she’d wanted to deal with was another unanswered question.  But a week or so before he’d turned himself human, and this whole mess had started, they’d been stuck in a particularly cramped drainage pipe, listening for the sounds of their pursuers, and he’d done it again—muttered the time just as though he’d had a clock inside his head. 

Mostly to distract herself from the smell and the cold and the feel of his chest pressed up against her back, she’d whispered, _Still don’t know do you do that._

His head had been just over her shoulder, one hand still lingering at her waist from when he’d pulled her back into the shadows.  She remembers how he’d leaned into her a little bit more, the hushed sound of his shifting feet echoing in the pipe. 

_Oh, didn’t I tell you?_ he’d whispered back, his warm breath tickling her ear. _I count your heartbeats._

She’d known it was just another tease, another non-answer, even as the blood had rushed to her face and the rhythm in her chest had raced ahead.  But that hardly seemed to matter what with the way his fingers had tightened on her ribs, one of them tapping it out, one-two, one-two.  She could feel his mouth rounded in a smile as it brushed against the side of her head, and her lips curved up in response.

Those hands had been getting freer of late, the hugs longer, the flirts more blatant, and she’d been more than happy to blow off the words themselves in favor of the promise behind them.

It’s kind of funny, thinking of that now. 

She’s still sure he doesn’t keep track of the time based on how often she sneezes or whatever, but maybe there’s another side to what he’d said, one she hadn’t really been able to see before.  He’s lived for centuries, will live for centuries after she’s gone.  But while she’s here, at least, he’s tying the rhythm of his life to hers, tracking the passing moments by the way she fills them.  It’s heady and terrifying, wonderful and vulnerable, and every now and then, it shakes him to his very core.

So yeah, now she understands him better.  Now that his life is the more finite, oh, does she ever.  And she thinks she knows exactly why he was counting those heartbeats—because it’s the only metric that matters.  Human or Time Lord, the Doctor or John Smith; they are blurring together in her head, and it hardly makes a difference which is who and who is which.  Just as long as that heart keeps beating.

She rubs her thumb over the carved rose on her cane like a talisman and presses on.

Nearly an hour later, she reaches the blackberry thicket.  She’s a little surprised to have found it this quickly, but Joan hadn’t really been specific about how long each leg of the journey would take.  And, Rose thinks as she gingerly finds her way around the thorny vines, wincing as they tear at her hands and clothes, she’s hardly going to complain.  The sooner she can get out of the forest and reach the towns, the better. 

Once she finds the bank of the riverbed, she sighs in relief.  It’s wide and open, clear of trees and brush—finally a chance to make good time.  The third time she falls, though, tripping over river rocks and sprawling face-first into the mud and leaves on the forest floor, she forces herself to slow down.  Taking a moment to rest, she limps over to a fallen log and sits. 

  It’s frustrating, having to creep along like this while his life is hanging by a thread, but the only alternative is crashing headlong through the forest.  She’d probably kill herself in the process, and she’d definitely run the risk of attracting unwanted attention. 

Rose takes a drink of water from her canteen and shivers at the thought.  The last thing she wants is any sort of altercation with the aliens in this forest.  Her vision has come back enough for her to make out the fuzzy shapes of tree trunks and the brighter patches of sunbeams, but she’s not in any sort of shape to run or fight.   And the idea of being stalked through the woods, unable to see what pursues her is terrifying.

Wait, what was…?

The flickering yellow light of sunbeams slipping through the treetops has been a constant in her cloudy vision, but for an instant, she could have sworn it flashed greener than before.  She shifts back and forth, looking up at the forest canopy, but all she can see is _bright_ —she must be sitting in a particularly sunny spot.  There are definitely no bursts of green light to be seen. 

Huh.  Maybe it was her eyes adjusting or something.  She closes them, listens for any suspicious sound, but there’s nothing.  If anything, the forest seems unusually quiet.

Uneasy, she stands, adjusts her pack, and keeps walking, carefully brushing bits of dirt and moss off her cloak as she goes. 

She’s tempted to take the cloak off because it’s really not doing much for her camouflage-wise, and she can’t imagine what sort of alien is going to be scared off by the color yellow, but…well, stranger things have happened.  She feels more conspicuous than protected, though, as she picks her way painstakingly across the rocky ground.  Conspicuous and vulnerable.

_Just be quick and quiet, and don’t think about it too much._

That’s what the Doctor would say, at least.  The two of them sneaking into enemy camps, sneaking out of alien prisons, through towns, through sewers, through caves.  Trainers muffling the sound of their footfalls; shadows hiding their movement.  Now, every sweep of her cane rustles the leaves on the forest floor.  Twigs crunch and snap under her every step.       

She could swear she’s never breathed this loudly before.

It’ll be alright, she tells herself.  Whatever lives in these woods can’t possibly be watching everywhere at once, no matter what the townsfolk believe.  The forest is huge, must be huge to cut them off from the rest of the world, so with any luck, she’ll be able to slip through entirely unnoticed. 

It’s just that…well.  It’s almost certainly nothing.  The Doctor had told her about the power of suggestion before, that whole ‘don’t think of a pink elephant’ thing and all.  That’s probably all it is.

Probably.

But…but she can’t quite shake that prickly, back-of-the-neck feeling.  Like there are eyes watching her.  Tracking her movement.

Doesn’t really make sense, she reasons.  If they could see her, they’d do something about it, not just follow her around.  That would pretty much make them the worst alien villains ever, she thinks with a half-laugh.  Or maybe they really are scared of the cloak.

Still, for all her joking, when she lifts a hand to brush her hair off her face, she finds that she is shaking, just a bit.  For so long, she has wanted to be able to venture into the woods, to find answers, to find the TARDIS, anything, but the reality is that she can’t be quick and she can’t be quiet. 

Yeah, try not to think about it too much, she reminds herself with a snort, tightening her grip on her cane.  Easier said than done.  

Under her feet, the ground slowly becomes soft and springy, and then boggy.  When she reaches the first true pool of water, Rose kneels and touches the wet earth.  Marsh, check.  Now she just has to find that path.  She carefully marks the position of the sun and heads directly toward it.

She keeps walking.

She doesn’t find the path.

About an hour later, as she’s still pushing through the rough underbrush, she hears something that sounds an awful lot like footsteps.

At first, she thinks it’s just the flutter of a moth’s wings, since the little insects seem fascinated with flying around her head.   But even after she waves them away, she still hears those faint sounds.  They seem like they’re coming from somewhere behind her, quiet and stealthy, pausing whenever she does.   She whirls around, trying to catch whatever it is, only to be greeted by silence.  Nothing there.

It happens again.  And then again.

But nothing reveals itself; there’s no attack, no movement amidst the patchwork of trees.  No sound of pursuit when she stops awhile and waits.

Huh.

Must just be a pink elephant.

The sun is getting low in the sky, casting long shadows everywhere, and the air is growing cooler.  Soon it will be too dark to see anything at all.  Rose worries her lip between her teeth and wonders if she should try to camp for the night.  She’s pretty sure she could navigate the terrain in the dark, but without either the sun or the path, she’d have no way of keeping to the right direction.  And then there’s the problem of the aliens—would it be better to keep moving and get clear of the forest as quickly as possible, or make camp and hope to stay hidden from hostile eyes?

Of course, she doesn’t have much in the way of camping supplies, and no weapons to speak of.  In retrospect, this seems odd—surely Joan would have known it would take her more than half a day to get clear of the forest and reach another town.  Or maybe she hadn’t realized that it would take Rose longer with her vision impaired.  But if the other towns are this close, why don’t they ever have any visitors?

In her panic to leave, she hadn’t questioned the details, but now, Rose starts to wonder.  Really, does this plan make any sense at all? 

A cold rush creeps down her spine.  They hadn’t…  They wouldn’t… 

She swallows.  No.  They wouldn’t have let her come out here, alone and unarmed, if there wasn’t some way out.  They _wouldn’t._

Just then, she thinks she catches the soft sound of footsteps again.  Closer this time.

Fear clawing at her throat, Rose scrambles her way through the undergrowth, tree branches snagging her hair, brush scratching her arms and pulling at her clothes.  She has to get through.  She has to get out of here.  She has to—

She falls flat, tripping over a tree root, and lands smack in the middle of the path.  The sound of pursuit fades again. 

“Oh, thank you,” she pants with relief as she collects herself and stands.  “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” 

Finally, a chance to really _move._   She hurries, nearly running now that she’s free of the shrubbery.  The path winds and bends, but it’s easy enough to follow with her cane to track the borders, and it’s wide and flat enough to traverse without tripping.  It occurs to her that the Nameless must use it—why else would it be so clear?—but at this point, she doesn’t care.  That clock in her head is still ticking away, and it’s time to get out of this forest.

The sun is just starting to dip behind the hills when the path turns again, directly west this time.  Walking toward the sunset is a little tricky—most of the direct light is blocked by trees and such, but every now and again, she’ll get a bright beam to the face, making her eyes smart and water.

As she clears a fallen log, Rose pauses, peering forward.  She’s not totally sure, but it looks like there’s some sort of hill or bank up ahead.  A fence, maybe?  It’s not too tall—maybe ten feet or so, but she can’t see any way around it.  Oh, but there.  As she gets closer, she can just make out two tall shadows against the bright sunlight. 

The standing stones.  They are marking a passage through the fence or bank or whatever it is.

Rose approaches slowly.  Nurse Redfern was a little unclear about where she’s supposed to go after she goes through them, but she definitely said they were the way out.  So maybe the forest thins out on the other side of the bank, or maybe there’ll be a road or something.

The wind picks up as she gets closer, tugging at her cloak and making the leaves rustle around her feet.  The sunlight seems to dim, and the air grows colder.

Behind her, she hears a branch snap.

She spins, readying her cane and squinting into the gloom.  She can’t make anything out, can’t see any motion.

Another crack of breaking wood, from the other side this time.

A shuddering breath leaves her body, leaving a cloud of vapor hanging in the air.  She still can’t see any threat, but those sounds were too loud to just be her imagination.  She closes her eyes, tries to rely on her other senses. 

The air turns sour, smelling of cold, rotted earth.  It’s hard to hear anything over the wind and her own heartbeat.    But then, just under the rush of air and blood, she catches it.  A low hiss.

And then, once more, the sound of footsteps.  Coming from up ahead this time.

It’s the color she sees first, as her eyes fly open.  In this endless array of green and brown, the bright red cloaks make them stand out as they sweep out from between the standing stones.  They are tall, she can see that much, and larger than a human.

The Nameless.

“St-stay back,” she warns, holding her cane aloft.  “’M warning you.”

She receives another hiss in reply, sharper this time.  The two creatures fan out, flanking her.

Rose struggles to speak calmly even as she spins back and forth to keep both of them in view.  “I don’t mean you any harm.  Just let me pass through.”

One of them swipes at her, claws clattering, and she stumbles back, still brandishing her cane.  By accident, she manages to get a bit closer to the stones, and it gives her an idea.

Positioning herself a little closer to the creature on the right, she speaks again.  “Look, I don’t know where you’re from, but it’s not Earth, yeah?” 

When it answers with a snarl and another swing of its claws, she dances back, gaining more ground.  The noise coming from them both is becoming more menacing.

She tightens her grip on her cane, edging backward.  “So why don’t you just tell me where you’re from?  Bet I can help you get home.  I know somebody who’ll be able to help.”

The spluttering hisses coalesce, become words.  “Fffforbidden!  None may pass here!” says one. 

“A tithe!  A tithe must be paid for this outrage, or the villagers will suffer the consequencesssss,” snarls the other.     

“No fair taking it out on the whole village,” says Rose quickly.  She is nearly to the threshold of the stones.  If she can reach it, she’ll turn and take her chances running.  “I’m the one responsible.  And if it’s payment you want, I can get you all sorts of things.  If you can help me find this big blue box in the forest, that is.”

The creatures don’t seem to be listening, though.  As she dodges another strike and her back hits one of the stones, they shriek, “Death!  Death to all who dare venture he—”

“Scanning.  Egress protocol chip detected,” interrupts a calm, deep voice.  “Security program deactivated.”

“Wait, what?” says Rose in confusion and then watches as the two cloaked figures flicker out of existence.  The menacing wind dies down, and the sunlight returns.  “What the hell…?”

 

 


	12. hello operator

> _“Scanning.  Egress protocol chip detected,” interrupts a calm, deep voice.  “Security program deactivated.”_
> 
> _“Wait, what?” says Rose in confusion and then watches as the two cloaked figures flicker out of existence.  The menacing wind dies down, and the sunlight returns.  “What the hell…?”_

“I would be pleased to assist you.  Would you like the GAAT to fully manifest at this time?” the voice enquires politely. 

Rose looks around wildly, trying to find its source.  The voice doesn’t seem to be coming from anywhere in particular, and all she can see is a fuzzy smear of forest.  “What?  Who are you?  What gate?”  She squints at the rocky barrier on either side of the two standing stones.  “D’you mean in the wall?”

“The GAAT is the only egress from the secure biological and sociological containment environment.  Would you like to exit the containment environment at this time?”

“Ok, I’m going to need you to help me out with this,” says Rose, taking a deep breath.  “Pretty much from the beginning.  Who are you, _where_ are you, and what the hell are you talking about?”

The voice continues with what sounds like long-suffering patience.  “You are currently standing adjacent to the GAAT—the Gateway Automatic Activation Terminal.  I am the friendly user interface program, GAATKeeper.”

“Well, that’s just great,” says Rose, the stress of the situation bringing out all her snark, “Just call me the keymaster, then.”

“If you like,” replies the GAATKeeper politely.

“So you’re a computer, right?  Artificial intelligence?”

There is a slight pause, and Rose thinks she hears a delicate sniff, as though in reaction to some perceived rudeness.  “That is a particularly antiquated term.  I am a fully automated portal guardian program with Class 3 decision-making capabilities, designed to assist authorized egress protocol chip users.”  Another pause, and when the GAATKeeper speaks again, it sounds slightly suspicious.  “You _are_ authorized to carry and use the egress protocol chip, are you not?”

“Oh, um, yeah.  Yeah, absolutely,” says Rose quickly.  “Totally authorized.”

“You are…quite sure?”

“Definitely.  So where does the GAAT go?  To a spaceship?  No,” she corrects herself, puzzling it out.  “You said it was an exit.  From a contained environment.  Are…are we in some sort of virtual reality program?”

“No, Keymaster.”

“Well, if not VR, how’d you make those two…creatures disappear?”  She frowns.  “Were they holograms?”

The GAATKeeper makes a sound of simulated exasperation.  “These questions should have been covered at your security authorization briefing.”

“Well, see…”  Rose mentally runs through the possible excuses and goes with the first one that seems plausible.  “I was only given a quick overview because…because the regular person was sick.  So they might’ve left a few things out when they told me what to do.”

There’s a moment of silence, during which Rose holds her breath.  Then the GAATKeeper continues with what sounds like resignation.  “Very well.  The ‘creatures,’ as you say, are part of the security program.  They are enhanced holographic images with integrated electromagnetic matter repulsion capabilities and are the primary form of physical and psychological dissuasion within the secure biological and sociological containment environment.”

“Just a trick to keep everyone inside,” Rose surmises.  “In a…what?  Bio-dome?”

“You could call it that, yes, although it is not strictly self-contained.”

“And the people inside don’t know anything about this.”

“Only first generation participants and designated egress chip carriers have this knowledge.  All others are unaware and are prevented from discovering the truth by means of the primary and secondary deflection systems.”

“Right.  Wait.” Rose frowns.  “What’s the secondary deflection system?”

“A series of psychotropic alpha wave emitters, placed throughout the forest buffer region.  Any person who entered would be subject to their effects and experience a growing sense of unease.  The system is designed to feed off the subject’s fear response, so the unease leads to anxiety, paranoia, and eventually—”

“Yeah, thanks.  I did notice that, actually,” interrupts Rose tersely.

To its credit, the GAATKeeper sounds mildly contrite.  “My apologies—the secondary system is automatic.  I was only able to disable the primary system when I detected your protocol chip.  Normally, foreknowledge of the secondary system’s existence is enough to counteract the effects, but if you were not properly informed—”

Rose waves her hand as she interrupts.  “Doesn’t matter.  Ok, so only a few people know they’re inside this…thing.  Mostly just the elders, I guess.”       

Worrying her lower lip between her teeth, she thinks that over for a minute.  If the elders know that they’re all inside some sort of contained environment, what in the world did they think had happened when she showed up?  When John Smith arrived…well, they’d seemed to be expecting him, but even if that was the case, they certainly hadn’t been expecting her.  Why didn’t they say something? 

And more importantly, what the hell are these people doing living in a bubble, pretending it’s the 1870s?

“What year is this, anyway?” she asks.

“I do not have that information.”

“Are we even on Earth?”

“I do not have that information.”

Rose snorts.  “Big help you are.  How can you not know?”

“I am a Class 3 portal guardian program,” it replies haughtily, “not some lowly database.”

“What about…”  She scrunches up her face, trying to think of a way to get more information.  “What about your installation date?  Or your, whaddayahcallit, copyright.  D’you have one of those?”

“Certainly.  I was copyrighted in 2326.”

“Well, fair bit off from 1873.”  Rose tries to remember if she and the Doctor had ever been to the twenty-fourth century.  Maybe?  In a quick stop for tea and biscuits?  If memory served, it hadn’t been too weird—and the biscuits had been good, at least—so hopefully, whatever is on the other side of the door won’t be too dangerous.  And anyway, one way or another, she has to get that medicine.

Rose takes a deep breath.  “Alright then.  Go ahead and show me the GAAT.”

“As you wish, Keymaster.”  There is a slight flicker on the exterior of one of the standing stones, and then a black panel appears.  “You need to insert your egress protocol chip and place your hand on the scanner for identification purposes,” says the GAATKeeper. 

“You can’t just scan it from here?” she asks nervously, not having the faintest idea what chip it’s talking about.  “I, um…I can’t see all that well.  Not sure I can find the right place to put it.”

“I will illuminate the input slot.  Please submit your egress protocol chip now.”

A small section of the panel begins blinking orange, and Rose reaches a finger out to touch it.  There’s an opening, a little larger than a coin slot in a vending machine, and something about it tugs at her memory.  She takes off her pack and fishes around until she finds the two pieces of paper she was given—the list of medications from Nurse Redfern and the letter from the elders and…oh. 

Her fingers close around the small metal object, round like a coin, still tucked in the corner of the folded letter.  She pulls it out and rolls it between her thumb and index finger.  It must be the chip—it feels like it’s the right size and shape. 

Why the hell hadn’t they just _told_ her?

The chip fits into the slot with ease, and Rose presses her hand against the adjacent pad for the scan.  A swish of light over her palm, and the panel beeps.

“Security protocol complete,” announces GAATKeeper.  “You may proceed.”  With a faint crackle of static, the opening between the two stones dissolves, revealing a plain metal door.  “When you are ready to reenter, just present your hand for rescanning at the exterior GAAT panel.  You, and only you, will be allowed reentry.”

“Thanks,” says Rose.  Steeling her nerves for whatever might await her on the other side, she steps up to the door.  It slides open automatically, leading into a small, blindingly white corridor.  Tentatively, she walks inside.

“Oh,” adds the GAATKeeper, just before the door slides shut, “and do watch out for the—”

“The wha—” Rose starts to yell back, but before she can finish, a great deluge of freezing cold, antiseptic-scented water comes pouring down over the top of her.

Right.  _Bloody disinfectant protocols_.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Dark mist swirls out of the portal, and a pair of glowing red eyes appear through the fog, shining in the dim light.  “Foolish mortal!  Do you dare challenge me?”

“I’ll never yield to you, Necromatron!  Never!”  Over the swell of epic music, the hero draws his sword.

 _Ok, fifth time’s the charm._   Milo Malard licks his lips as he watches the cut scene animation through his cinematrix goggles.  He’s so close to that high score, he can practically taste it.  He wriggles his fingers lightly before placing them back on the neurosphere controller, and—

 _Blink, blink, blink._ A yellow light flashes in the periphery of his vision.

Fuck.  Exasperated, Milo pauses the game and shoves the goggles up onto his forehead so he can check the monitor.  It’s not going to be anything interesting—it never is.  Probably some stupid bird has crashed into one of the sensors again.

Oh, big surprise, it’s an alert for one of the security programs.  He swivels around with a sigh to double check the system readout, as per procedure.  This job ought to be a sinecure, but the system’s so fidgety, he’s constantly having to review these damned sensor errors, and—  

“Oh, wait…”  He peers down at the display screen.  “Decontamination program activated?  What the—”

Behind him, the door, _the door,_ the forever-locked, unopenable-without-about-a-million-security-passcodes _door_ slides open. 

“Woah, woah, woah!”  Milo spins around in his chair and sees a woman, still damp from the decon, standing at the threshold, dressed from head to toe in the whole 1800’s getup and clutching some sort of walking stick out in front of her.  He leaps to his feet.  “No, no, no!  You shouldn’t be here!  What are you doing?  There’s no official communication scheduled for at least six months.  Nobody’s even here right now.  Nobody but me.”

She cocks her head, and Milo notices that her eyes look strangely cloudy, and they don’t settle on him quite right.  “Okay…nobody here but you.  That’s alright,” she says calmly, and in a weirdly old fashioned accent, like something out of one of those period pieces his mom likes to watch on the holovid.  “And…you’re human?”

“What?  Yeah.  Yeah, of course,” he stammers.

“And the year is…23-something?”

“Yeah…?” he says, drawing out the word like a question.  “It’s 2348.  Look, just wait there for a sec.  I have to call this in.”

She quickly shakes her head.  “Nah, you don’t want to do that.  I’m Rose, by the way.  What’s your name?”

“Um.  It’s Milo.  They’re gonna want to talk to you, is all.  Just talk, I’m sure.  It’s just that nobody was supposed to report in for awhile.” 

“Ok, Milo, do you think you could do me a favor and just sort of…ignore this?  Bringing anybody else in, well, that’d just be more trouble for everybody, trust me.”

“But…but…”

“Wait,” she interrupts, staring over his shoulder at the monitoring equipment.  “Are those video screens?  Do you have cameras in there?  Have you been watching us this whole time?”

She sounds incensed.  Milo glances over his shoulder at the computers, which show nothing but readouts of air quality and soil pH and estimated biodiversity probabilities, and then back at her.  “What?  No, no cameras!  Just environmental monitoring programs and census data, and that’s only accessible every six months or in the case of an emergency.  Why would you think there were cameras?” 

Without answering, she pushes past him so that she’s standing right in front of the screens and leans her face in way close.  Confused, Milo stares at her, and then he notices that there is scarring around her eyes, a sort of pinkish swelling that he’d assumed was irritation from the decontamination program.  Now that he’s really looking at her, though, he can see that her irises are filmy, too, and as he watches her squint at the screens, the penny finally drops.  “Your eyes…you can’t see, can you?” he murmurs, shocked.  “I’m…I’m sorry.  I’ve never met anyone who was…who was…”

“Think the word you’re looking for is blind,” she says offhandedly as she checks the next monitor, leaning in even closer. 

“Is that why you decided to leave?  To get medical treatment so that you can see for the first time ever?”  Put like that, it sounds almost romantic, and Milo gazes at her with something akin to awe.  She must be very brave, he thinks, to have risked so much and traveled so far.  An adventuress on a noble quest.

“Hmm?  No.  Well, I do need medical supplies but not for me.  There’s somebody else in there who’s hurt.  I’ve got a list, actually—maybe you could help me find them?  Do you have any sort of medicine on the site here?” she asks as she straightens and starts fishing through her pack.

“Um…I guess?  There’s a medlab, but I don’t know if—”  He stops as she thrusts two pieces of rough paper into his hand. 

“One of those is a list of medicine that I need.  The other’s a note from the elders, saying it’s ok for me to be here.”

Milo looks down at the paper.  The list doesn’t seem too out there—just antibiotics and biofabricators and such.  He’s pretty sure there’s stuff along those lines in the medlab.  The other paper, though… 

It’s just a short note, hand-written in a heavy, flowing script.  It takes him a moment to make sense of it, but when he does, he looks back up at the girl.  At Rose.

“Um,” he says slowly, “this says that you’re not allowed to go back in.” 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, you guessed it -- this is a rewrite/combo of HN/FoB and the movie The Village.


	13. effect and cause

_“Um,” he says slowly, “this says that you’re not allowed to go back in.”_

Milo watches as all the blood drains from her face. 

“What?” she says in a voice that’s nearly a whisper.  “No, no, it doesn’t say that.  It’s supposed to…”  Trailing off, she grabs the paper out of his hands and holds it up close to her face.  Her expression darkens as she stares at it.  “I can’t read it!  Here,” she says with disgust, shoving it back at him.  “Tell me what it says.  Exactly.”

“Um.  It says, ‘The bearer of this note, Rose Tyler…”  He pauses and clears his throat.  “…has become a disruption and poses a risk to the stability of the community.  Do not allow her reentry.’”

“But you will,” she says quickly.  “You will.  You’ve got to.  Milo.”  She reaches out, feeling for his hand.  “Please.  There’s a man in there, and he’s not supposed to be there, and he’s dying.  He’s dying, and I have to save him.  Please.”  Her fingers clutch at his.

“Umm,” he says, subtly trying to pull away from her.  “The thing is…we should really call the sociology department head, at the very least.  She’ll help us sort this out.  The emergency contact roster should be in the comm…”

There is an instant where the look on her face is frightening in its intensity, enough to make him stop, forget what he was saying.  Then it clears, as though she’s slipped a mask of calm back into place.  Her grip on his hands tightens. 

“Here’s the thing, Milo,” she says, the desperation in her voice giving way to a terrifyingly friendly tone. “You really want to help me out here.  ‘Cause, see, if you tell them that I’m here, they’re going to want to know where I came from.  They’re going to check the records or whatever and realize that they’ve had two whole people inside there who shouldn’t have been for the last couple months, because me and my friend?  We weren’t around for the last census count, I promise.  And Milo…”  She pauses, her fingers squeezing his again.  “I’m going to have to tell them that you let us in there, just for a laugh.”   

Ok, she’s a little less noble than he’d thought, but there’s a certain set to her jaw that makes him think she’s not kidding.  Milo glances over his shoulder at the T40x VG entertainment system that he’s managed to not-so-subtly hardwire into the mainline datafeed and cringes at the thought of any sort of records review.  He’s not exactly been a model employee. 

“But…it’s just that I don’t understand,” he says, placating.  He finally manages to free his hands from hers.  “If you weren’t born in there, how did you get in?”

It would be funny, if he weren’t freaking out, the way he can practically see her trying to come up with an explanation. 

“Um…well,” she hedges. “You see…”  Then her face relaxes, and she shrugs.  “Yeah, I don’t really have a good lie to tell you.  The truth is going to sound a little mental, though.”

She takes a deep breath, and Milo finds that he’s bracing himself for whatever she’s about to say.

“We’re time travelers.  We materialized inside your dome thingy, totally accidentally, and our time machine broke down.  We actually thought it really was 1873.”

He stares at her.  “You’re crazy.”

“M’ not.”

“There’s no such thing as time travel.”

“Well, sure, not _now_ ,” she says with a little eye roll.  “But by the 53rd century, there’ll be a Time Agency and everything.”

“But they did a show on that…how it was impossible and the limits of light speed and everything.”

He tries to dredge up the rest of the arguments, and her mouth curves upward the more he talks.  Finally, with a snort, she breaks into giggles.  “Yeah, well, I think they might need to double check their work.” 

She taps a finger to her lips thoughtfully.  “I could swear we visited 23-something-or-other at some point.  Don’t you have those biscuits, the flash-baked ones with the cinnamon?”

  “Biscuits?”  The effort involved in following her train of thought is exhausting.  This has to be the fucking weirdest conversation he’s ever had.  “You mean cookies?  Well, jeez, not for like thirty years.  You can’t get cinnamon anymore, at least not cheap.  There was that whole…” he waved his hand vaguely, “fungus thing.”

“Seriously?  Oh, that’s terrible!  Well, I tell you what, Milo.  I’ll personally get you a whole basket of cinnamon biscuits, straight from the bakery if you want, if you’ll just help me out here.  I mean, your choice—either you report this, and I tell everybody you were in on it, or you help me out, and you get magical, time traveling biscuits.”  She raises her eyebrows and smiles enticingly.  “What d’you say?”

“Well…”  He hesitates.  On the one hand, she is clearly nuts.  On the other, though, he doesn’t want any part of the trouble this whole mess might cause, and the best way to stay clear of that is to keep his head down.  He has a passing thought about what the elders might do if she’s let back in, but seeing as she and her friend have apparently been in there for months without them saying anything...   “I guess I could pretend this didn’t happen, alter that one tiny log record.  I mean, it couldn’t hurt.  As long as neither of you mention my name.  To anyone.  Just say that you managed to sneak in and out, okay?”

And with that, her smile becomes genuine, and Milo feels an odd rush of relief. 

“Deal.  Ok, now that we’ve gotten that sorted, I’ve got one more question for you.”  She reaches out, grasps both his hands this time and holds them firmly.  Taking a deep breath, she speaks each word with deliberation.  “Do you have a loo?  A proper one, I mean.  With running water?  _Hot_ running water?”

“Um, yeah?”  He points with one of their joined hands to a hallway.  “It’s just through there, second door on the left.”

Her face breaks out in a brilliant smile.  “Oh, thank you!  Seriously, thank you.  I’ll be right back, ‘k?”  Tapping with her cane, she navigates her way down the hallway. 

Watching her go, Milo shakes his head and wonders when exactly he’s going to wake up from this bizarre dream.

***

Getting into the medlab is even simpler than he’d thought it would be.  The lab’s only there in case of catastrophic emergency, so there’s nothing much in there—nothing, er, pharmaceutically interesting anyways—which is probably why the University never bothered upgrading the security system.   

Once they’re inside, Milo goes over the list again and starts rooting through the supplies.  There’s a couple of things he has to look up on his datapad to find the modern day equivalents—some of the stuff on the list is at least twenty years old. 

Which makes sense, of course.

Now that he’s agreed to help her, Rose seems content to wait while he searches, and there’s no more crazy talk about time travel or reporting him to the authorities.   Just to be sure that she doesn’t see him as some sort of villain in all of this, he tells her about the Village project—how it started in the 20’s as the brainchild of Richard Brahme, who used his fortune to fund the project and build the enormous enclosure.  It was based on a similar experiement from the early twenty-first century, but in that attempt, there hadn’t been any external oversight, and the society had eventually collapsed.  That was why, he tells her, Brahme decided to attach the project to the sociology department at the University of Virginia when he started it twenty-two years ago.  The department gathers basic environmental and census data to make sure there’s no systemic problems, and they get a report from a designated community member annually, but that’s it.

“You’d think,” she says after she’s had a moment to digest the information, “that they’d have picked an era with more modern plumbing, at least.”

Milo snorts as he stuffs some microcellular bandages into her pack.  “Yeah.  But I guess Brahme was really into the whole agrarian thing.  Plus, you know, no electricity means no electronic communication.  It’s easier to keep everybody isolated.”

She’s quiet for a moment.  “And that doesn’t bother you?”

Milo shrugs.  “Could be worse.  They might not have modern conveniences, but it’s a very peaceful, healthy sort of life.”  Honestly, the whole idea kind of intrigues him, at least until he remembers the lack of a datafeed.  “They’re even getting a doctor, once we find somebody with the right psych profile,” he adds as he checks the label on a medchem tube.

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see her suddenly sit up straighter.  “Wait…a doctor?”

Milo glances at her over his shoulder at her.  “Yeah.  I guess the elders requested we find somebody during the last contact.  They’d decided it was a necessary skillset for the community to have, I think.  But first we have to find the right person and train them.  Can’t just send anybody in there—it could disrupt the entire society.”  Those words slip out of his mouth before he realizes what he’s saying, what that might imply about _her_ , but another quick peek over his shoulder shows that she’s taken no offense.  If anything, she doesn’t seem to be paying attention to him at all anymore. 

“So they’ve been expecting a doctor,” she says slowly, speaking to herself.  Her brow is furrowed.

“Yeah.  I mean, they knew it could take awhile, but eventually, yeah.  Is that important?”

Rose just stares off into space (or _doesn’t_ stare off into space), and Milo shrugs and turns back to his task.  With one sweep of his arm, he dumps a bunch of medical supplies into her pack.

The sooner he can get her back inside, the better for everyone.

***

“Please accept your egress protocol chip.”  The GAATKeeper program illuminates the slot where the little circular chip is waiting.  “It has been a pleasure to serve you, Keymaster.” 

“Yeah, thanks,” says Rose absently as she takes it from the machine and tucks it away with the rest of the supplies.  “Nice talking to you.”  She shoulders her pack as she turns back to face the forest once again.

It’s nighttime, and although the moon is shining, the woods are very, very dark.  But it’s no matter—before she left, Milo showed her a map of the interior landscape and helped her trace with her fingers the route back.  It ought to be simple because the path from the clearing should lead all the way back to the village.  It will be a significantly longer distance than the straighter route she took to get here but much easier to navigate in the dark.  With any luck, she’ll be back to the village by sunrise.

She finds the edges of the path with her cane and starts on her way.  The medical supplies in her pack are a bit heavy but not enough to slow her down much.  The only real impediment is the need to keep the tip of her cane on the ground in front of her to guard against tree roots and fallen branches. 

As she travels, she occasionally hears the snap of twigs or the spooky sound of footsteps coming from the forest on either side.  Now that she knows about the deterrent system, though, it’s not really frightening—more like watching a scary movie for the third time in a row.  There’s not even any wild animals in here that could hurt her.

The only thing she tries to keep from thinking about is the Doctor.  Dr. Smith.  If all goes as expected, she’ll be back in less than twenty-four hours.  Objectively, she knows he should be fine, but every time she thinks of him lying silent and still on that narrow bed, her heart lurches and the noises coming from the darkness increase. 

Apparently, the deterrent system doesn’t distinguish between different kinds of fear.       

To keep her mind occupied, she thinks about what she learned from Milo about the Village project.  Twenty-two years it’s been going on, he’d said.  That meant that anyone older then that must know the secret.  Well, she corrects, maybe twenty-seven or so—old enough to remember living in the modern world.  But the younger people—Isaac, Mary, Ida, and the rest—they must have been born inside.  They’d grown up believing it was actually the late nineteenth century.

The whole idea of it is so weird that Rose can barely wrap her head around it.  She’s seen some odd things in her time, but these people who willingly live with their heads buried in the sand might just take the cake.  Sure, life inside might be peaceful, but what about all the things they’re missing?  And honestly, life in twenty-fourth century can’t be that bad, can it?  Even without the cinnamon biscuits. 

At least they do have some limited contact with people on the outside.  And they’d even gone so far as to request a doctor, so they’re not entirely inflexible.  The whole doctor thing just raises a whole new conundrum, though.

According to Milo, the elders had asked for a doctor at the last annual report, so when Dr. Smith showed up, they must have assumed that he’d been sent from the outside.  But Rose’d had the impression that they’d expected him specifically, so…huh.  Maybe the TARDIS had done something?  And then when she’d arrived, maybe they’d thought she’d been sent in as well? 

That bizarre interrogation that Elder Brahme had given her when she first arrived is starting to make a lot more sense now, at least.  She’d been so badly injured—it would have been so confusing to them.  They must have decided that she was harmless as long as she was sticking to the whole amnesia thing, enough that they thought it was safer to let her stay than to try to make her go.  But this morning, she’d demanded that they let her leave to get medicine.  And they’d thought she’d understood what that meant. 

Rose shakes her head because the whole “do you know that I know that you know” thing is getting confusing.  But clearly, there had been some serious miscommunications on all sides. 

Well, ok.  She doesn’t understand why they want to live the way they live, but at least she can understand their motivations a little bit better now.  If they’re trying to keep their society completely isolated, obviously they can’t have people deciding to pop in and out whenever the mood strikes.  And that would have to include medical emergencies.  When she’d insisted, they’d probably assumed that she would threaten to tell the truth or something.  No wonder they’d wanted to get rid of her.

Still, it’s going to be hard to resist giving Elder Brahme a good thwack across the shins with her cane when she gets back.  They’ll just have to reach some sort of understanding—

Her thoughts are interrupted by the distant rustle of leaves, like footsteps, coming from the forest—another attempt at deterrence, she thinks with a sigh.  It’s becoming annoying, having to set aside that instinctual fear response over and over.  She hopes she’ll reach the valley clearing and get out of these horrible woods soon.

The footsteps continue, longer than they have before.  They sound like they’re moving out of the woods and onto the path, and Rose has a fleeting moment of unease.  There’s…there’s not actually someone behind her, is there?

No.  No, it’s just the security system.  Better think of something else.

No topics present themselves, though, and she fights the urge to turn around and check.  She reminds herself for the hundredth time that the system feeds on the fear response, so the best thing to do is not acknowledge it, put it out of her mind.  It’s not real.

It’s not real.

_It’s not real._

Behind her, something growls.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is a rewrite/combo of HN/FoB and the movie The Village.


	14. seven nation army

_A growl, low and menacing._

The sound is electrifying, and she’s whirling around on a spike of adrenalin before she can even think.  The blood is rushing in her ears, her fingers curling into fists and oh, she can see it there, _she can see it_ , just ahead of her on the path. 

The figure of a man. 

Human sized and shaped, his outline illuminated by the moonlight, or…or is it?  Rose squints and blinks because it almost looks like he’s glowing faintly green, a cloudy aura around the edges of his silhouette. 

The faint breeze carries a whiff of the creature down the path, and Rose recoils at the stench of decaying flesh.  Whatever this is, it’s not part of the deflection system. [[MORE]]

Raising her cane defensively, she takes a quick step back.  “Who’s there?  Who are you?”

He… _it_ emits the strangest sound—multiple snarls layered over each other, high pitched and low, like a chorus of growls from a pack of animals.  “ _You_ ,” it grinds out.  “ _The trail ends with you._ ”

“I don’t know what you mean,” she says, taking another step in retreat.  “What are you talking about?”

“ _You lie_ ,” it shrieks, and the nimbus of green seems to swell around it.  “ _You’re soaked in Time; you reek of it.  We are the Family of Blood; we chased you through the Vortex, hunted you across the timelines.   Such a clever ruse to hide yourselves here, in the time out of time._ ”

The hunters, then, here at last.  She thinks she knows the answer already, but she needs to buy some time.  “What do you want?”

The rage in the voices turns cold, petrifies into something hard and cruel.  “ _The Time Lord.  He deceived us once with a false trail, and Father of Mine died five hundred years in the past.  Now we are forced to use our collective energies to keep this body, living in torment.  It is his doing._ ”  The creature shifts, raising its arm in her direction, and Rose realizes with a jolt that it is pointing some sort of weapon at her.  “ _You will bring him to us._ ”

“ _Or we will kill_ ,” hisses another voice from the same body. 

“ _Everyone in the settlement will die unless you obey_ ,” shrieks another.

“Okay!” says Rose, raising her other hand palms out, trying to placate them.  “Okay.”  Thinking fast, she edges backward just a bit more.  If she can just get away and find that watch, she’ll be able to bring the Doctor back.  She still can’t remember his motivation for hiding from these creatures, but she can’t imagine that he won’t be able to think up _something_ to deal with them or that he’d want her to stand back and let them hurt innocent people.  

“Look,” she says as calmly as possible, “I don’t want anyone to die.  I’ll get the Doctor.  He’s in hiding, but I’ll be able to find him.  He’ll be able to help you.”

The figure is preternaturally still, and then Rose sees its head tilt slowly to the side.  “ _Do we have enough?_ ” one of its voices mutters.  “ _Will we be able to maintain both forms?_ ”

“ _Daughter of Mine will go_ ,” another answers.  “ _Not strong enough to consume, maybe, but a shared will.  A shared mind_.”

“ _The Time Lord’s human will be ours_ ,” they say in unison, and with that, the green glow intensifies.

“Woah, wait a sec,” says Rose, backing up.  “No possessions necessary.  I told you I’d get him, didn’t I?”

An odd clicking noise comes from the weapon in the creature’s hand, and it starts to hum.  “ _Move again, and we kill you._ ”  The green mist gathers around its head.

Suddenly, rustling noises come out of the darkness to the left, too loud to be from some woodland creature.  And then the sound of footsteps can be heard, coming from the woods on either side of the path.  Both Rose and the creature turn to look, the green cloud retreating back as their own exchange is momentarily forgotten. 

It’s horribly dark under the trees, but Rose can make out the white glow of moonlight streaming down through the forest canopy in a few places.  As she stares, she sees the patches of light flicker, as though something were moving through them.  As though several large forms were walking out of the forest toward the path. 

The Family’s voices rise in fear.  “ _Who comes?_ ” 

“ _I smell nothing, nothing!_ ” 

“ _Fight or flee, flee or fight?_ ”

As they grow closer, the new arrivals let out a menacing hiss, and suddenly, Rose realizes what they are.  The primary defense system has activated; the Nameless are here.

“GAATKeeper?” she whispers hesitantly.

“Keymaster,” snarls one of the Nameless, but suddenly, the sound doesn’t seem menacing at all.  Rose lets out a gasp of relief.

The Family doesn’t seem to agree.  Pivoting back and forth to try to keep all of the creatures in sight, they pull their gun up, apparently unable to decide whether to shoot or run.  “ _Stay back!_ ” 

“ _You will come no closer!_ ” 

“ _We are the Family of Blood.  By our hand, you will die!_ ”

Rose keeps slowly backing up down the path, waiting until the Nameless are close enough to cover her escape.  The second she sees the shape of them blocking out the odd green glow of the Family, she turns and runs.

Behind her, she can hear the sounds of snarling and of raking, clattering claws.  The Family shrieks and fires their weapon.  There is a crackle of static, and then the excited cry of the Family.  “ _False, false, illusions only!  Quickly, pursue the girl!_ ”

Pelting over the rough path as fast as she can, Rose tries to put as much distance between them as possible.  It is pitch black; she can’t see a thing, and she’s going too fast to do anything with her cane except track of the edge of the path.  Her only hope is that the Nameless will continue to block the Family’s view of her escape.

It works for a moment, and Rose thinks maybe she’ll be able to get enough of a lead to escape.  Then the sound of their weapon firing rips through the air, and the forest just to her left erupts in a shower of dirt and leaves, lit by a bright green light.  Another crack rings out, and this time, the green bolt travels right past her and explodes on the path ahead.  With a shriek, Rose ducks to the side, diving off the edge of the path and into the branches of a small cluster of fir trees.

As she pushes her way through, she can hear the Family behind her, talking to themselves. 

“ _Careful, Son-of-Mine!  If we kill her outright, she won’t be able to lead us to the Time Lord_.”

“ _Look how she runs!  Fear will drive her forward, and we shall follow!_ ”

“ _We hunt.  We hunt.  We hunt._ ”

The terrain off the path is rough, and Rose falls more than once.  Her pursuers are close behind her, but fortunately, it sounds like they are nearly as blind in this darkness as she is.  The primary defense system continues to work as well—every few moments, she hears them fire their weapon and the electric snap of the enhanced holograms disintegrating.  Occasionally, it sounds like the Nameless actually manage to land a blow, and the Family scream in rage at the injury.

Rose has no idea which way to go, how to find the path, or in what direction the village lies.  She is reluctant to lead these creatures to the settlement, but the only other choice is retreating to the GAAT, and there’s no way she’s leaving the Family inside here with the Doctor in the state he’s in.  Plus, if she can warn them in time, the townsfolk might be able to hold off the aliens, for a little while at least.

The underbrush snags and rips at her as she runs, and Rose blesses the ridiculous, goldenrod yellow cloak for keeping her from getting torn to pieces by branches and thorns. It doesn’t help much with the impediments underfoot, though, and once again, she falls sprawling onto the forest floor.

For just a moment, she closes her eyes, lies there in pain and exhaustion.  Everything aches, and through the adrenalin, she can feel the effects of her lack of sleep and day’s journey through the forest.  The weight of her pack shifts slightly, the medicine containers clinking softly, and Rose takes a deep breath.  She has to get back.  He’s counting on her.

She drags herself up and pushes forward, a little slower this time.  The Family is still behind her, but they are having trouble keeping to her trail, thanks to the GAATKeeper’s interference.  She has perhaps a minute, maybe two, before they find her here.  She can’t waste it. 

Up ahead, the terrain slopes upward and ends in a steep bank.  Rose reaches up and feels for the top of it; it’s just shy of five feet high.  Behind her, the Family fires its weapon again, and the shot explodes about thirty meters away from her.  They are catching up. 

Gasping, Rose hauls herself up the muddy slope.  There are rocks embedded in the dirt, and she bangs her shin on one hard enough to force tears out of her eyes.  Once over the top, she gets to her feet and starts running, swinging her cane back and forth to check for impediments.

There’s less undergrowth, and the ground is harder underfoot.  Soon it transitions to actual stone, a slope of granite leading her upward.  The change makes her cautious, and it’s lucky it does—a few moments later, her cane meets nothing but air where the ground should be. 

Rose drops to a knee on the rocky ground and cautiously feels for the edge in front of her.  It’s abrupt, and she thanks her stars that she didn’t careen right over it in the dark.  She uses her cane to tap down the side of the rock as far as she can reach but can’t touch the bottom.  A cliff or a ravine, then.

It’s no good; she’ll have to go back.  Even if she could safely climb down the cliff face, she’d be an easy target for the Family.  She turns around and starts backtracking her way down the hill.

The forest is…quiet.  She’s not entirely sure when the noises stopped but there is no sound of pursuit, no more gunfire or explosions.  It could be that they’ve lost her trail, maybe thinking that she headed back toward the path.  It’s eerie, though, and the hairs on her arms and neck start to stand on end. 

She’s just reached the edge of the bank and is about to climb down when the forest erupts in blazing green light and cacophonous sound.  The dirt of the bank explodes under her feet, and she only just avoids falling down with it, scrambling back instead. In her panic, her cane falls from her hand, tumbling away into the darkness.

The Family crows in triumph, emerging from their hiding spot amongst the underbrush.  “ _Good shot!_ ”

“ _We have her!  Quickly now, pen her in before the holograms return!_ ”

Rose regains her footing and does the only thing she can—run.  The Family fires what must be meant as a warning shot at the path in front of her, but Rose ignores it, ducking her head away from the shower of debris. 

She can hear the sound of their footsteps behind her, and she hopes she’s right in her assumption that they won’t actually try to shoot her, not yet at least.  Not while they still think they have a chance at catching her.

The only thing she can do is try to reach that cliff.  Maybe she’ll be able to climb down it and—

No.  A sudden burst of insight has her clutching her hands into fists, nails biting into her palms.  Her resolve hardens.  She knows what to do.

They are closing in, right behind her now, a wheezy chorus of voices rattling with joy in the hunt.  She feels the brush of fingertips on her back and, panting, pushes herself to go faster.  Beneath her feet, she feels the ground change to rock.  Nearly there, almost, almost—

 _Now!_   Sacrificing her knees and shins, Rose drops to the hard ground, tucking her head and twisting sideways as she falls.  Her momentum carries her forward, and she ends up rolling, the straps of her pack slipping down and tangling with her arms.  She scrabbles against the rock as she reaches the edge, and as she skids to a stop, her legs dangling over the empty space, her center of mass a hair’s breadth from slipping over. 

In her panic, she almost misses the moment when the Family falls, missing the ledge in the dark.  Her fingernails are gripping at the stone, and her feet are searching for purchase against the rock when she hears the terrible sound of their body hitting the rocky floor with a wet thud. 

There is one soft moan, a single voice this time, and then silence.

Rose manages to get a knee up over the side and pulls herself up from there.  On hands and knees, she turns to check over the cliff’s edge.  There is no sign of life from below—no sound of movement or glowing green light.  The Family, it would seem, are dead.

Choking back an unidentifiable noise, Rose crawls down the hill.  Contemplating what she’s just done is too much; with the back of her hand, she absently wipes errant tears off her cheeks.

She manages to find the bank, mainly because there is still a bit of greenish glow surrounding the spot where the Family’s shot landed.  Rose avoids any parts that look particularly radioactive and has a stroke of luck as she feels around for a safer route down the bank—her fingers stumble across the familiar texture of smooth, polished wood.

Her cane.  With a sigh of relief, she rubs her thumb over the top of the rose carving.  It makes her feel better, a little less helpless and a little less alone, but she still has no idea which direction to go.  She could end up stumbling around in the woods for ages.

Once she’s down the bank, Rose sinks down to the ground.  She can’t think of any option but to wait until the sun comes up—at least then, she’ll know which direction is which. 

Her eyes are just starting to droop, her body giving in to the exhaustion at last, when something occurs to her.  She comes awake quite suddenly, blinking in the darkness.  Will it work?

Hesitantly, she asks, “Um…GAATKeeper, are you still there?”

Silence.

Wrapping her arms around herself, she tries again.  “GAATKeeper?  If you can hear me…I need some more help.  Can you show me the way out of the forest?”

There is a long stretch of silence, and Rose starts to think that she’s out of luck.  Then, nearly imperceptible at first but growing louder, the sound of footsteps coming out of the forest. 

Rose can just make out the silver edge of moonlight on its rounded back; everything else is in shadow.  The creature approaches the decimated bank and then stops. 

“Follow,” it instructs in a harsh whisper.

“Thank you,” she answers and struggles to her feet. 

For nearly two hours, it leads her silently through the forest.  Despite its monstrous form, it is patient whenever she has to take her time climbing over, under, or around the various obstacles, never moving more than six or seven meters ahead.  It’s a little awkward, walking along without speaking.  Rose debates trying to talk to it—ostensibly, it’s all controlled by the same chatty Class 3 portal guardian program she met before—but she just can’t think of what to say. 

Finally, the creature stops.  Without saying a word, it lifts an arm and points in what Rose hopes is the direction of the settlement. 

“Thanks,” murmurs Rose, and the creature bows its head and disappears. 

She only has to walk about twenty more meters before she reaches the boundary of the forest.  The first brush of grass against her fingertips is a wonderful sensation, and for just a moment, she runs her hands over the tops of the blades, wet with dew.

She’s come out much farther south than where she first entered the woods.  At the edges of the hills, the night sky is just starting to give way, and a faint, violet haze signals the coming dawn.  It’s still too dark to make out the settlement down in the valley, especially for her eyes, but it’s there. Soon, the roosters will start to crow, waking everybody up, and the normal routine of another day will begin. 

There is a light breeze, and the air is damp.  As she picks her way down the slope, the loamy smells of the forest give way to the fresher scent of the open meadow.  Somewhere nearby, a lark starts singing its first, tremulous notes of the day.

The illusion is perfect.  It would be so easy to forget that it’s not real.  A person could live their whole life under these fake stars and never question it once.  Outside, the whole world is spinning, but here everything is still, peaceful.  A time out of time.

It’s still quiet when she reaches the village, though she thinks she sees the glow of candlelight coming to life in a few of the windows.  Stealing quietly through the rows of houses, she manages to reach Dr. Smith’s house without alerting anyone. 

The door isn’t locked; the latch lifts easily.  Inside, the house is dark.  As quietly as possible, Rose taps her cane to navigate around the furniture, stepping carefully over the mess she herself caused. 

No one seems to be awake.  Shivering in the darkness and the silence, Rose finds the door leading into Dr. Smith’s bedroom.  Her fingers close around the knob, and she breathes in and out once, long and slow. 

_He’s going to be alright.  He’s still alive, and he’s going to be alright.  He has to be._

As quietly as possible, she opens the door.  Inside, she can hear faint snoring coming from the corner of the room—Joan is asleep on a chair.  Rose will wake her up in a moment so that they can make use of the medical supplies in her pack, but first…

She steps softly up to the side of the bed.  There is light coming in the window now, the first rays of the rising sun.  In her fuzzy sight, they seem to illuminate the bed sheets and the figure lying under them in a halo of white.  His face appears soft, slack, and she can make out the pale planes of his cheeks, the dark curtain of his limp hair.    

There is no movement.  All is silent and still.  And he’s…he’s…

Almost of their own accord, her fingers slip under the edge of the blankets and find his.  As she takes his hand, she lets out a shuddering sob, quickly putting her free hand up to muffle the sound.

And then, she hears the softest rasp.

“R…Rose?”

  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is a rewrite/combo of HN/FoB and the movie The Village.


	15. jumble, jumble

_Almost of their own accord, her fingers slip under the edge of the blankets and find his. As she takes his hand, she lets out a shuddering sob, quickly putting her free hand up to muffle the sound._

_And then, she hears the softest rasp._

_“R…Rose?”_

For a second, she thinks she has imagined it- the sleep deprivation and utter relief of him still being alive getting to her. Then his eyelids flutter and his shoulders slide against the sheets mere millimeters, a breathless groan accompanying the movement.

"Doctor," she whispers, and his eyes finally open, bloodshot red and blurry, but so, so alive. She presses her lips to his without a thought, the dryness of his barely scratching across hers. She jerks back, letting go of his hand. "Oh! I’m sorry, love. You have to be thirsty." Still holding one hand, she brushes his sweat-matted hair back from his forehead with the other as she looks around the room for water. His eyes soften- but she only realizes that she’s used the endearment as she finds the water pitcher on the nightstand, her cheeks subsequently flaring pink.

She rises and pours a bit into the glass, coming back to sit by him on the bed. Easing her hand behind his head, she lifts him up to drink. “There now,” she murmurs as he sips. 

He leans back, blinking in an attempt to maintain focus. “Rose?” 

"Yes, I’m here. I’m back."

"You need…to make sure," he swallows, tongue smacking as he stumbles through speaking, "You need to- the TAR- the arch may…malfunction. If they find…they might break through." The whites of his eyes show briefly as they roll back in his head as he slumps against his pillow.

A voice from behind causes Rose to jump. “John?” She sees Joan rising from the rocking chair. Her eyes narrow a bit before widening. “Rose?”

Rose hesitates. She doesn’t know whether Joan was involved in the village’s plans to keep her out or not. But Joan’s the only medical help he has. 

Doesn’t mean they need to go back to their…slightly kind ignoring.

The medicine. She kneels, grasping for the pack at her feet. Joan rises, lighting several candles, the golden glow casting an ironically warm light in the room.

"You made it back!"

Rose turns slightly to glance at Joan before again rummaging through her pack. Joan doesn’t know that she has a good deal of her eyesight back, and Rose doesn’t know how privy she wants Joan or the rest of the villagers to be.

"Was your journey a difficult one? I haven’t been outside in near, oh, twenty-odd years. Is it much changed?" If this one is lying, she’s too good at it. Wide eyes, fingers twitching, aching to have the tools to fix the man that they both-

Rose purses her lips, drawing in a silent breath to calm her voice. “Not particularly,” she shrugged. “Outside of a bit of confusion a note brought, it was fine.” Might as well test the waters a bit. 

"It is miraculous what you were able to do in your condition. And as for the note- ah, well. Can’t expect everything to be what it was." She takes a syringe from the kit, drawing out fluid from one of the vials. "I felt like most of my job…out there was trying to keep up with the newest discoveries."

So. Joan must not have known. Really, Joan probably wouldn’t have taken away Dr. Smith’s best chance. Rose releases the small breath she was holding. And medical training must start _young_ in the twenty-fourth century- Joan looks to be the same age as Dr. Smith, she thinks as Joan applies salves to his wounds. Can’t, can’t look too directly at what she is doing. Not yet. Where is her…she leans, allowing her hand to “search” for her cane. Using it to tap towards the bed again, she sits at the foot of the bed, well away from where Joan is working.

She waits until Joan turns to go to the washbasin to finally ask, “How has he been?”

Joan starts a bit, like she had been so immersed in her work that she had forgotten that she wasn’t alone. “As good as could be expected, really. He’s fought a fever. Some night terrors, but he hasn’t had the strength to really thrash and make things worse.” 

"Night terrors?"

Rose’s periphery vision still isn’t great, but she can tell that Joan is trying to pull stray locks back into place from off her face. “Mmm. Yes. And the most extraordinary things, too. Didn’t know he had such a vivid imagination.” 

The room’s temperature seems to rise a bit, and Rose shifts on the bed slightly. “Oh?” 

"Yes, he thankfully is too weak to really move about and hurt himself further, but he would begin to grit his teeth and breathe sharply. He spoke of…dar-licks?" Rose’s chest burns as she realizes that she’s holding her breath. Joan does not notice and continues, "And something of the Medusa Cascade? Never heard of such a thing. Perhaps it’s something he’s seen in his travels. He has the most fantastic stories," Joan’s mouth opens as if she means to continue, but she cocks her head and closes her lips. She is lining up the vials on the bedside table in a perfect line when Rose hears her quietly say, "He also mentioned a few names."

Rose bites her lip against asking if her name was among them. By the pinched look on Joan’s face, she figures that it was, and moreover, that Joan’s had not been one of them.

But, as much as she enjoys putting the other woman in her place, Rose can’t let it lie as it is. “I’m sure he’s had a lot of people that he’s met while traveling.”

Joan nods once quickly. “Yes, well- one does meet quite a few persons in the course of life, I suppose.”

Rose’s shoulders slump a little. At least that is over.

The other woman tucks the blankets neatly around Dr. Smith again with almost military precision, and then turns back to Rose. “Why don’t you go get yourself cleaned up, eh?” Her voice softens. “I’ll be up with him until you get back- I promise I’ll call if anything changes.” 

Rose rubs her temples. Cleaning up sounds magnificent at this point, and she should probably eat something.

Lifting her pack, Rose uses her cane to navigate herself out of the room. As she reaches the jamb, Joan calls to her “Rose?”

Rose shifts so her ear is facing Joan. “Yeah?”

"You might want to make up a story, you know, that you ran into the creatures."

Her eyes slide shut of their own accord. The lump forming in her throat hopefully won’t affect her voice so that the nurse will notice. “All right.” Rose doesn’t even realize that she’s moving until she taps her cane against a baseboard.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Dr. Smith improves quite a bit in the next couple of days as the medicine quickly begins to heal the infections and wounds he had sustained. Though he keeps slipping in and out of consciousness, Rose is quite thankful that he doesn’t make any more mentions of his life before.

Joan has been _tolerant_ of Rose’s presence, but Rose suspects that it’s mainly because she’s thankful for another set of hands that aren’t Mary’s. Rose being there also gives Joan a chance to take care of others in the village, though she is pretty hasty in her returns.

Tonight, Joan is again taking care of Isaac’s mother. Rose rolls her neck before leaning the back of her head against the rocking chair, eyes seemingly scanning the knots in the ceiling, but actually seeing nothing. She doesn’t know what to do about the Isaac situation, and the elders have been avoiding Dr. Smith’s house since she arrived back. She wondered if she had Joan to thank for that, or if they’re a bunch of non-confrontational cowards- which she feels is most likely.

Rose stands, taking a nearby flannel to mop her brow and the back of her neck. Not only is she expected to wear these ridiculous layers in the summer heat, but she is never alone long enough to strip down to her shift. A slight breeze picks up the lacy curtains, drawing her attention to the window. She sets the flannel down beside the wash basin and goes to the window, pushing it up further. She leans her elbows on the sill, and her skin prickles as the cooler air blows through the room.

The moon is full tonight, the brightness of the light blotting out all of the nearby stars. The spindly arms of nearby trees are silhouetted by the light, their blackened branches weaving a web across the night sky. Her eyesight might not be at one hundred percent, but every day brings improvement. She’s managed to keep the revelation from Joan, but it’s only a matter of time.

"Lollygagging instead of tending to the patient, are we now?"

Rose whirls around to see Dr. Smith grinning, albeit a bit weakly, at her. After a second, she remembers that he doesn’t know that her sight has returned, and she allows her eyes to unfocus and train on the headboard above him. She reaches her arm out, “feeling” for the high footboard before coming to stand by the side of his bed. “How are you feeling?”

"Right as rain!" He tries to push himself up, grimacing deeply.

At his sharp intake of breath she searches for his hand. She runs her hand up his arm, this time his intake of breath is softer, but still there. Ignoring the warmth spreading across her skin, she gently, yet firmly, pushes his shoulder back down to the pillow. “Sure you are,” she replies, without the usual sarcastic bite. His dark eyes are trained on her face, and it takes everything in her to keep from meeting them to reassure herself of his being there and on the mend. She squeezes his shoulder lightly before asking, “Is there something I can get for you?”

"Some water would be lovely." She rises and fills a tumbler, easing towards the head of the bed. If she can’t meet his gaze, she can at least be closer to him. Gathering her skirts, she sits back down, allowing her hand to slide across the sheets and stopping when she reaches the pillow. The rush of her heartbeat drowns out the background noise of the night as her fingers brush the side of his face before ducking beneath his head to lift him towards the cup in her other hand. Out of her periphery, she can see his eyes completely trained on her face, not the cup. She fumbles without spilling, trying to keep up the illusion.

But really, would it be so bad for him to know?

He finishes, and her nails lightly scrape his scalp as she lays his head back down. Those wide brown eyes are still staring at her, probably content with the thought that she wouldn’t realize, and she tries not to fidget under his gaze. He’s probably hungry, she thinks, so she moves to rise, her mouth open to ask him what he would like, and instead his fingers lace through hers, tugging her hand back towards him. 

"Could you stay?"

Rose’s fingers instinctively tighten around his. “I was going to get you something to eat, though.”

"Please. Just for a moment." 

She scoots closer, her hips brushing the side of his leg.

The silence settles about them, comfortable in the way that was much too familiar to her. She tries not to notice the paleness of his skin as his thumb traces her knuckles. “I’ve missed you.” His voice is trying so hard to be nonchalant, but the tight lines around his face tell another story. 

_And I almost lost you._ A burn builds in her chest as she tries to blink at the tears threatening to fall. “Missed you, too,” she whispers, voice thick. _So much._

A tear slips down her face, only to be caught by the pad of his thumb. “Here now,” he rumbles softly. “It would take a lot more than a boy with a pointy object to have me shuffle off this mortal coil.”

Her laugh sounds more like a breathless gasp as the tears start to steadily flow. Dr. Smith pulls her arm until she’s lying beside him. Though his cheeks draw in as he grinds his teeth against the stiffness in his disused muscles, he wraps an arm around her, moving her until her head is on his unharmed shoulder. The bed creaks with each of her shuddered breaths, but he doesn’t say anything. His fingers lightly comb through her hair until she calms, his lips resting against her forehead.

"I’m not leaving you." The words warm her skin, and she opens her eyes to see his looking intently into hers. She forgets for a moment, as his happiness is laced with the familiar barmy joy of the Time Lord.

His eyes, which had been shifting between looking at each of hers stop. “Wait.”

The realization dawns on her, and as she goes to back away, his fingers in her hair tighten, keeping her there. “Rose, can you see me?”

She worries her lip before allowing her eyes to focus on his fully. “I was actually coming to tell you that I could see a big, white blur when I found…” she looks down to their still-clasped hands resting on his abdomen. “It’s just been improving ever since. I’m still not quite there, but almost.”

The fingers resting on the nape of her neck weave tighter into her hair, making her look back up at him. The joy in his face makes her heart clench before he quickly draws her face to his. After lavishing delighted attention to both of her lips, he presses a kiss to each of her eyelids before resting his forehead to hers. Her eyes lazily open to find his still closed, the fan of his lashes taking her back to a time when they were distorted by thick plastic- the memory bringing the tang of sulfur to her lips, a shudder to her spine. The dark thoughts dissolve quickly, however, as he brushes the tip of his nose against hers. She can’t help the grin that spreads across her face.

A low chuckle causes her eyebrow to raise. “What?” 

"Oh, just the fact that the first time you see me I’m not…entirely well." The side of his mouth curves up. "I’d have worried about your reaction on a good day."

She nods sagely. “Well, you should be thankful that I don’t judge a book by its cover.”

Indignation, like quicksilver, spreads across his face. “Oi! After all I’ve been through-” She cuts off his speech, grinning into another kiss. The indignant noise that she interrupted soon lowers, becoming more quiet and primal. 

After a quick nip at his lower lip, she leans back to see him adorably pouting at the distance she keeps taking from him. “Besides, I know that you think you’re pretty. And I’ll not be puffing up your ego any more than it already is.”

She didn’t think him capable of so grumpy a look. “Can’t even humor a invalid, Miss Tyler?”

"Nope." She smiles innocently at him, rising from the bed. "But I am hungry, so I’m going to make myself something."

"What about me?" she hears as she quickly rounds the doorway.

She calls back ever so sweetly, “Oh, I suppose I can scrounge up some hardtack and gruel.”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

And so more days pass, in much the same way. She and Joan skirt each other, trading off on shifts of caring for him. If the delight that comes to his face every time she enters the doorway makes her feel the least bit smug, well. She is only human.

Joan has, however, been able to keep the elders from the house. Rose embellishes the story of the Family to fit the parameters of the village’s “history,” assuring Joan that is the story that she will hold to so as to keep up appearances. Never mind the cold feeling that settles in her stomach every time she thinks of it. She knows she will have to deal with the elders eventually, but she hopes that it will be with Dr. Smith well enough to be by her side.

When she tells him what she has done, that is.

The time they spend together is…nice. So much nicer than she had had since landing in this mess. It takes a lot less cajoling to have him keep the secret of her sight up than she anticipates- it seems that Dr. Smith still has a streak of mischief running right through him. It is something just between them.

And right now she’s trying her best to keep from thinking about what that means. Dr. Smith is…lovely. The way he lets his eyes tell her immediately how much he feels- no restraint, no weight. The handholding that has always been as instinctual with them as breathing is only a precursor to soft kisses. Though Rose is alone, she hides her smile behind her hand at the thought. 

But with such easiness has come the reminder that this _isn’t_ the Doctor. Dr. Smith keeps casually mentioning _their_ future, always with that pesky plural, whilst he watches his fingers trace over hers and dip to tickle the webbing in between. Rose usually deflects as best she can or changes the subject.

Though the thought that she might be stuck with him is no longer…so bad.

Not that she wouldn’t, if the watch ever showed up…but is it wrong to be enjoying the easy affection of the right now?

Rose smacks her hand down on the dough she’s been absently kneading for the past few minutes, banishing all the bleak thoughts for a later date. She can always worry about that issue when she comes to it.

The front door opens, but Rose doesn’t react. Joan’s just probably come back from her rounds, and Dr. Smith is still napping. The quick clack of shoes confirms Rose’s suspicions of their owner as the other woman enters the kitchen.

"Ah, how’s John doing?"

Rose keeps to her kneading, only pausing to brush a stray lock of hair tickling her nose from her face. “Sleeping. He’ll be up and demanding attention soon enough.”

Joan chuckles softly. “Too true.” She sets her bag on the table, taking a berry from the basket nearby and popping it in her mouth.

"Did everything go all right?"

"Yes. A couple of colds. One of the elders needs to be up and walking a bit and he might not be so stiff."

Rose tactfully decides not to comment, just making a noise of acknowledgment.

"Well, I had better get to Dr. Smith. I’d rather not jump out of my skin with one of his yowls."

Rose grins. She feels for a nearby bowl to set the dough in to rise. She hears Joan’s footfall returning to the kitchen, and she turns to the doorway, keeping her eyes averted. “Did you need something?”

"Oh, I had forgotten. Someone gave me this to give to you." Joan crosses the room and takes Rose’s arm. "I think you had said something about missing this?"

Rose feels something round and somewhat heavy being put into her hands. It’s strangely warm, and she can swear she hears someone call her name…

As she slumps to the floor, she’s thankful Joan has already left the room.

_It’s a fob watch._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is a rewrite/combo of HN/FoB and the movie The Village.


	16. hypnotize

_"Oh, I had forgotten. Someone gave me this to give to you." Joan crosses the room and takes Rose's arm. "I think you had said something about missing this?"_

_Rose feels something round and somewhat heavy being put into her hands. It's strangely warm, and she can swear she hears someone call her name..._

_As she slumps to the floor, she's thankful Joan has already left the room._

_It's a fob watch._  

Rose’s thumb absently traces the loops and whorls of the Doctor’s native language as her eyes dart, not actually seeing anything in front of her. This is what she needs; she can now have the Doctor back immediately. She vaguely remembers the Doctor saying something about him having to open the watch himself to come back. The thought causes her to lean forward as if to get up and immediately run to his side. She’s leaning on her right hand when she stops and shifts back against the cabinetry behind her. 

When the Doctor returns…what happens to John Smith? She shakes her head. He’s just an illusion, a story. Something fanciful the TARDIS made up to protect the Doctor. The soft click of a nail breaking startles her, and she takes her fingers from her mouth, wiping them on her apron. 

But was it an illusion that teased her? Whinged when her attention wasn’t completely on him? Fancied Eskimo kisses? Brushed his lips across her cheek while whispering that he lo-

And what would the Doctor think when he returned? Would he even be able to look her in the eye? For that matter, would she be able to look at him again? After…everything? Would he feel that she had taken advantage of him and his double’s attentions? 

She looked up at a pan hanging across from her. The scarring on her face had faded from (what she assumed had been) a harsh red, just forming a light pink webbing that faded out as they fanned a couple of centimeters from her eyes. 

Would anything ever be the same again?

Pushing the heels of her palms into her eyes won’t solve the problem, nor will it make the thoughts go away. She takes in a ragged breath, drawing her hands up her face and then through her hair. Of course she’s going to give the watch to him. But he has the right to know what he’s up against, what’s going to happen. The flashes he gave of the Doctor stopped once he was figuratively out of the woods, but every once in a while she swears it is the Time Lord speaking to her when she looks into his eyes. But Dr. Smith is also there, doting on her as if she is the only thing in the universe to him. 

She just wishes that she could know where one man ends and the other begins.

He may think she’s totally gone ‘round the bend, but he had a right to know.

And the universe needs the Doctor.

She resolves to go and see him immediately. As she nears his room, she lays her hand against the wall to steady herself as she takes in a breath. She is about to round the jamb when his humming stops her. The other day she had been singing “Moon River” while readying food in the kitchen, and he had obviously heard her.

She slips the watch into her apron.

She doesn’t have to make a decision right away.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

A day passes.

There are no crises arising. 

The Doctor isn’t _needed._

John Smith teases her that she’s been around Joan too much- she is starting to look so prim and solemn. He immediately tries to smooth her frown lines with tickles and a caress here and there.

And Rose hates herself just a little.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx 

After the second day after she received the watch passes, she knows she can’t wait any longer. Nothing has prompted the Doctor’s presence, but it’s unfair to keep this from him for another day. She absentmindedly twirls a loose lock around her finger. And she can’t make this all be over with, one way or the other, by wishing.

Smoothing the hair she’d mussed back into place, she walks into his bedroom to find that he’s not there. Confusion briefly crosses her face until she remembers that Joan told him he needed to try and walk some today. And he is finally able to take a bath today- she’s been enjoying teasing him about how much of a disappointing sight he’s been. There is a rustling in the sitting room, so she assumes that is where he ended up. She walks in to see him resting on the chaise lounge, staring out the window into the field beside his home. He’d usually already be chatting her up, literally and figuratively, as soon as he could distinguish her footfall near his doorway, but today he hasn’t even turned to look at her.

She turns to leave, taking it as his asking her to be left alone, when she hears him quietly ask, “Why did he do it, do you think?”

“Huh?”

He runs his fingers through the still-damp strands of hair from his bath. “Isaac.”

“Oh.” Rose walks into the room and tucks the afghan he’d kicked his feet free of back down, sitting on the space near the edge she’d made. “It was me, I suppose.” He finally turns to look at her, though he does not say anything.

“Well, I suppose he was,” she cocks her head, looking up, “jealous? I mean, I don’t know that he wanted to…you know,” she couldn’t quite look at him, though his lips had taken on a suspicious upturn. “Oh!” She smacks his ankle. “You know what I mean. He isn’t in love with me.”

Dr. Smith finally allows himself a soft smile. “No, I don’t think he’s mature enough for it.” He takes her hand. “Why do you think, then?” 

She scoots closer to him. Her fingertips trace the veins on the top of his hand before she answers. “Maybe he was afraid you were taking me away? I mean, maybe he thought I’d just up and leave him some day?” As the last sentence passes her lips, his hand tightens around hers.

He sighs. “Perhaps.” After a blink, the darkness in his eyes dissipates in a too-familiar move, and his grin is this side of wicked. “Would he have been _that_ wrong about me taking you away? I do so love to run.”

Her eyes dart up to his, but no, it’s still her John Smith.

Hers?

“Have you not been sleeping well?” His abrupt redirection brings her attention back.

“What?”

“You’ve got dark circles. Have you had trouble sleeping?”

“Oh, some.” She shrugs, then pokes him right in the middle of the forehead. “Like you’re one to talk. Think you were a bloomin’ vampire with those blotches under your eyes.”

He allows the finger of his other hand to trace under one of her eyes for the briefest moment before laying that hand to cover their joined hands. “Dreams have been allowing only restless sleep. They have only gotten worse since the fever.” He looks shyly up at her before shaking his head back and forth. “It’s nothing. Just very…vivid.”

Rose chuckles. “More reckless seafaring?” When he fails to respond, she leans her elbow against the side of the chaise lounge and rests her head against her hand. She slips her other hand from his, moving it to his hair and lightly scratching. “Tell me.”

“They are like visions, I suppose. In so many of them I’m in the most outlandish clothing, and my hands look different, but however improbable, I’m still me.” He shifts, sitting up, allowing more room so Rose can move closer. “Beautiful places like the ones I told you of- towers of white waves, frozen for eons. Barren desert with volcanic activity in the distance.” His voice takes on a wistful quality. “Lying in red grass with silvery leaves shining in the waning light. Dreaming of traveling space and time itself.” He clears his throat. “Utter nonsense, I know. And it’s not all serene. There are just as many creatures. Monsters. Many seem to encase themselves in metal. Some are bare and grotesque. But unfortunately, just as many seem to look just like you or me. Especially a dark-haired man that seems to change alongside me.”

After a few moments of pensive silence, little smile comes to his face. “But I always seem to have someone by my side. A young girl with short hair and shining eyes. Another woman, a scientist- a skeptic. A reporter- she’s in so many of them. So much spirit.” His eyes close. “A boy wearing a star…taken long before he was able to grow into who he should have been.” And then his eyes open. Without taking his eyes from the far-off place he was seeing, he takes her hand from his hair, holding his thumb to her pulse. “An Irish nurse. Such dark eyes.” He pauses, and she gently rubs his hands, assuring him of her presence. “And then, all I can see is fire and destruction.” He swallows, tears threatening to fall. “And I’m alone.”

Tears well in her own eyes as she knows that this pain is just as real as the man before her.

And this is the moment she’s been waiting for.

He turns to her, his eyes finally settling on her face. “But then, there’s you. You’re always wearing the most ancient, no- futuristic clothing.” He shakes his head, as if trying to clear it and Rose hopes her face doesn’t look too conflicted. He doesn’t notice and continues, “You keep saving me. Above a rolling fiery pit, swinging from chains. Your voice calling to me while I’m walking in the dark. A glorious golden being emerging from a wooden box.” He smirks a little, and then his gaze softens. “And for the first time I feel…” His jaw works before he lets out a choked chuckle. “I can’t seem to verbalize it properly. I’m…happy, but it’s much more than that. It’s moments of- calm. With your hand in mine, I’m…content. In a way that doesn’t seem present in any of the other scenes.” He takes her hand, fingers holding tight much like they had from the start.

Now the tears are freely falling down her face, and his thumbs brush underneath either side of her jaw before he claims her lips in a soft kiss. She runs her tongue lightly along his lips, wanting to show him, _show the Doctor_ , how much she reciprocates everything. And he readily meets her. Soft hair slides through her fingers as his arms wrap around her waist to pull her closer. He finally breaks away, panting a little, and leans his forehead to hers, an oft-repeated gesture.

She's going to miss that.

_She has to tell him._

“Doctor,” she finally whispers. “You know that those are memories, yeah?”

His brow furrows. “How could they be?” 

“Think about it,” she says earnestly. “I know you’ve felt that things aren’t quite right.”

His mouth opens as if to affirm the negative, but then he pauses. “I…” 

“I know it seems impossible.”

He rests his fingers on her lips. “Rose, just let me…think.” 

The silence lies heavily between them for achingly long moments. She puts her hands on her knees, moving to stand and give him privacy, when he takes a hold of her elbow. “Wait.”

She sinks to sit again without a word. 

“I will admit that…the accumulation of everything- the intensity of how these dreams make me feel? How you reacted to me not recognizing you when you were first found? You’re right. Something hasn’t been right all of this time. It’s like I could feel that I was missing something- like something has been hazily tucked away.” He gently strokes his thumbs across her cheeks. “And how I felt about you- almost immediately. I don’t believe in love happening quickly. I don’t think the other- believes in it, either. But you always defy everything I find impossible.”

The hands that have been framing her face fall, and he looks away. “Is there a way to unlock these memories?” he whispers.

The pain in her lip from biting it moves her to action. She fumbles in her apron pocket and pulls out the watch and hands it to him. “This is you, at least, I think this unlocks you. The Doctor, as you were.”

His face is blank, but his eyes are round as he turns it around in his hands. “Is that what he’s, _I’m_ called? The Doctor?”

“Yeah,” she whispers.

“Oh.” He averts his eyes from hers. “That’s why you wouldn’t call me that.”

“I just…” She twists the corner of her apron. “I’m sorry.”

“No,” he says firmly. “I’m not asking you to apologize. It’s understandable. A stranger wearing the face of the person you love?” His thumb lightly runs over the button that will release the clasp before he looks up at her. “What do you want me to do?”

Her mind flicks from the Time Lord, to the TARDIS, to her mother. It then settles on the dopey grin of the man before her. “I- It’s not my choice. That’s yours.”

His mouth quirks into a self-deprecating half-smile. “I suppose so. But do you want me to change back?" 

And there it was. A breeze lifts the lacy curtains in the corner, and they flutter slowly back. The wood of his house creaks as it continually settles to its foundation. The warmth of his being right beside her does nothing to suppress the cold chill that makes her shiver. 

She wets her dry lips. The answer she would have given in a heartbeat at the beginning has become surprisingly conflicted. But after a moment, she realizes it boils down to something very simple. “I love you.” He starts; as this is the first time those three words have been strung together from her to him. She smiles softly, her own hand rising to run her fingertips from his temple to his cheek. “I think I’ve loved every man you have been to me. But it’s who _you_ want to be.”

“This man- I know I do not remember everything of his life, of _my_ life,” he amends, “but I do think he’d be able to heal you. And you must have family somewhere still.”

“But,” she shakes her head, “this isn’t about-“

“Yes, it is,” he affirms. “It is about you, because you’re…you’re Rose.” A happier half-smile appears on his face. “We’re…together, it seems, no matter what. And you would be able to get better medical care elsewhere. We’d be able to get back to how it should be.”

“But I will miss you.” Her eyes widen in shock at her own outburst.

Affection spreads across his face. “Rose, the person of my dreams doesn’t feel any less for you than I do. That much I do know. I have to be a part of him, it’s the only way any of my actions of late make any sense.” He looks at her for a long moment, his Adam’s apple bobbing before his eyes tighten. “I _did_ think that we…would have made a go of it, you know?”

She tries to tamp down her watery laugh. “I don’t know that either of us is cut out for domesticity."

Dr. Smith’s eyes get a small faraway look before he gives her a small nod. “I think we would have found something that worked for us, though.”

Rose can’t keep eye contact anymore.

He takes both of her hands into his. “But even so, you’ve saved me in so many ways, it seems. Even here, you have.” His fingers lift to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. “Joan told me about what you did.”

“I had to,” she says firmly, her eyes focused on their hands, only looking at his face through her periphery.

“I know.” He shakes his head. “Your crazy need to protect _me,_ no matter what form. Let _this_ me save you for once.”

She takes in a shuddering breath. She can’t cry anymore, can’t let him need to support her even more as he does this for her. Leaning forward, her lips brush against his as she says, “I love you.”

As his lips move with hers, she hears a metallic click.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is a rewrite/combo of HN/FoB and the movie The Village.


	17. the same boy you've always known

_“Let_ this _me save you for once.”_

_She takes in a shuddering breath. She can’t cry anymore, can’t let him need to support her even more as he does this for her. Leaning forward, her lips brush against his as she says, “I love you.”_

_As his lips move with hers, she hears a metallic click_.

Rose gasps and tries to pull back. Holding her fast, he cups the back of her head, taking advantage of her surprise to deepen the kiss.

And this is tinged with a desperation she’s never felt from Dr. Smith before. 

When she breaks from the kiss, this time he doesn’t try to stop her.

She takes the opportunity to look him over, to see if anything is different. Outwardly, he seems the same, though his eyes have yet to open.

For time travelers, time standing still sounds so trite. If anything, it’s always moving, faster and faster until you can only tell that it’s passing by the toll it takes on your body.

But right now, she’d swear that it has finally happened.

His eyes slowly open, one eyelid before the other.

When the Doctor first regenerated, she’d wonder if she’d ever get used it- if she would ever see evidence of her leather-shielded Doctor in this new man. But it wasn’t until they were alone, when he let a bit of his formidable guard down, that she saw the same _man_ looking back at her. The eyes may be darker and rounder, more expressive, but she could see that look that he always reserved for her. It is…well, she hesitates to define exactly what it means. But it is hers.

And it is right before her again.

_The Doctor._

They just look at each other. After a breathless moment, he raises his hand towards her eyes, but stops just shy of touching the scarring. His fingers curl back, and he winces briefly before the also-familiar mask falls again with his hand. Suddenly, he’s up on his feet. “Right then, Rose Tyler. Got to get you to the TARDIS and then get out of here!”

She’s still sitting in stunned silence as he bounds out of the room. A moment later, he peeks around the jamb, asking, “Are you coming?”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He’s already out the door and a ways towards the next house when she reaches him, skirts hastily gathered in her hands.

“Wait! You shouldn’t be out of bed!”

He waves a hand dismissively. “Time Lord physiology kicked in and healed it the rest of the way. Twenty-fourth century medicine isn’t that bad, either- for humans. Was well on my way.”

She stops for a second before trailing him again. “But what if one of the villagers sees you?”

“It’s quite late, and the only one about would be Joan, and she’s occupied at the moment.” He turns suddenly to her. “Do you have your TARDIS key? I seem to not have mine on me.”

She lifts the chain around her neck, holding the key out to him. He takes it lightly, still not quite looking at her. Rubbing the metal between his fingers, he starts scanning the area around them. “I think it is…” he sniffs, “this way!” He quickly turns in the direction of the woods.

The waning light makes it more difficult for her to see very far in front of her, as does the forest now surrounding them, so Rose picks up her step to catch up with his long stride. Usually they’d be running side-by-side, hand in hand. Half the time, she’d worry that he’d eventually run into something when he wasn’t looking. ...Actually, she’d sworn to “forget” the times it had happened.

It doesn’t feel right now to not have her hand in his, but it also doesn’t feel right to take it.

When she reaches him, she just falls into step beside him. The fading daylight is failing her, and yet she tries to keep up. A root comes out of nowhere, causing her to momentarily stumble. His hand reflexively grasps hers, and he stops. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” She goes to drop his hand, but he holds it tighter before starting off again.

They reach a small clearing with a stream gurgling past, and there, like a sentinel staunchly waiting for the return of its lord, there is the TARDIS. 

The Doctor lets go of her hand to approach his ship, the joy on his face causing a little to spread across hers. “Ha!” He smacks his hand affectionately against the fading blue wood. “What a sight for sore eyes! You gorgeous thing, you.” His grin fades when he turns back to Rose and realizes what he just said. “Sorry.”

“Oh, come on now.” She finally allows herself a slight smirk. “I’m not going to have a meltdown every time you mention sight. Though I might have to pinch you.”

The Doctor’s throat works, and she almost wishes that he didn’t even attempt the half-hearted smile barely gracing his features. It’s gone almost before it begins. He abruptly faces the TARDIS, inserting the key into the lock. 

The door swings open to show a darkened console room. The Doctor slowly walks up the ramp, shrugging his shoulders as if to remove his overcoat before realizing he doesn’t have it. Rose blinks and looks away, trying to act as if she didn’t notice, as she closes the door behind her. When she turns, he’s already at the console, laying a hand against the time rotor’s casing.

“Hello,” he whispers, hand sliding down slightly. The lights flicker a moment before coming on completely. “You’ve had quite the time of it too, eh?” 

His hand slips the rest of the way down, and he faces Rose again. “I don’t know about you, but I’d like to get cleaned up.”

The thought of soaking in her tub on the TARDIS couldn’t sound more heavenly, however- “Wait, what about the villagers? Are we just leaving?”

“No,” he says quickly. “But I don’t plan on staying long.” He rakes a hand through his uncharacteristically flat hair. “Hurry up, though. After you’re done, we’ll fix-” he gestures lamely in the direction of her eyes.

She nods and starts off in the direction of her room when she turns back. “Do I need to change back into these clothes?” she asks, nose wrinkling.

He genuinely smiles at her for the first time since reappearing. “Nahhhh. These locals could stand a bit of shaking up.”

She can’t help but smile back. “Right. Just be a mo.’”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Rose sinks into her tub completely, holding her head under the warm water until her chest starts feeling uncomfortable. More bubbles surround her than usual- she might have gone a bit over the top. She’s almost afraid that she’ll never get that woodstove smoky smell off her hair and skin. Half of her conditioner bottle is already gone as she tries to get her hair back to a twenty-first century manageable state.

The foamy water settles as she stills. She cups some of the water in her hand, letting it trickle and pop some of the bubbles while moving the others around. She can’t deny how much being back on the TARDIS and hearing the constant soft hum comforts her. But she can’t shake the sinking feeling. The Doctor doesn’t seem to want to talk about what happened, and she can already see the blame he is heaping upon himself.

And what about what happened while he was…gone? Is he upset with her for not rebuffing John Smith completely? Or embarrassed that the TARDIS had so epically screwed up his human personality that he can barely look in her direction for a few seconds?

She dunks her head back under the water.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Rose emerges from the bath, rubbing the towel against her hair before twisting it into a turban and tucking the sides behind her ears. As she nears the console room, a familiar pinging makes her pause. Trainers against the grating. It’s funny how sounds that you’re used to in your regular life are amplified when you haven’t heard them in quite a while.

As she rounds the doorway, she hangs back. The hair and suit are back to normal, and the ease of familiarity makes her wonder how she ever got used to anything else. He’s flipping switches- thoughtless, fluid in such a way that bespeaks years of experience. This is where he looked the most alien to her. Without an audience, his face was unguarded yet precise. Zeroed in completely on whatever he was thinking. Usually, it was somewhere very far away. Sometimes he’d have this fond look on his face that she would fancy was for her…but she didn’t let that train of thought go too far. There lay, she suspected in the past, a little more disappointment than she wanted to think about.

And right now she has more than an inkling of the cause of the pained look on his face.

“Hello,” she says as she walks closer. She pulls the towel from her hair, rubs it against her hair a few more times, and then throws it across one of the rails. It annoys the crap out of him, but she always does it, and anything that reminds him of normal will probably help.

“Hi.” He glances up for a brief second before he casts his glance about, obviously looking for something. A few seconds pass before she hears, “Ah!” and he rounds the console, coming towards her. He gestures towards the jumpseat. “Here, sit.”

She complies, fingers combing through tangles in her hair before she lays them in her lap. Trying a bit too hard not to stare at the man before her.

The Doctor crouches before her, unscrewing the lid to the jar in his hand. Inside there is a yellow gloop, smelling medicinally awful. Why couldn’t futuristic medicine figure out a way to mask those smells? 

He dabs two fingers into the jar before reaching towards her face. “Here, you’ll want to close your eyes.” 

She smiles. “Will feel a bit more normal. Got used to the dark.”

She swears that she hears a grunt, but he didn’t say anything more. In fact, he isn’t doing anything. She’s about to open her eyes to see what’s going on when she feels him touch the clean fingers of his other hand to the scarring on her face. “Oh, Rose,” he whispers. “I’m so, so sorry.”

“’S not your fault.” She doesn’t open them.

“Isn’t it?” he asks quietly. When she goes to speak, he interrupts, “Hold still.”

She settles with a soft huff. Of course he’d wallow. But she knew that he hadn’t had control at the time, and he would have helped if he could have.

Not that he’d listen if she said so anyway, but the point stood.

His fingers gently rub the goo all over the scarred area, and even into the surrounding areas of her face.  His touch is so careful that she remembers the hesitant first touches of John Smith and blurts, “Bit of déjà vu, this.”

A second passes, and his fingertips still on her face before he replies, “Yes, well- now it can be fixed.” His fingers start moving ever so much quicker.

She doesn’t respond.

The small jar squeaks as he screws it shut, and then she hears the click and whirr of the sonic. Her eyelids glow blue, and she tries to keep as still as possible. The goo seems to harden, to settle into her skin before the sonic goes quiet. She then feels a warm, damp flannel being pressed to her face. He wipes away all remnants of the medicine before she feels his fingers tracing her now-tingly skin.

“As soft as a baby’s bum.”

“Oi!” She strikes out, triumphant when he can’t completely suppress the hiss as she smacks his arm.

“You’re supposed to be holding still!” he whinges.

She smirks. “Even you know that was not good.”

“Let me finish.” He snaps his fingers and then she hears a jingling. A gold light coming ever closer to her eyes finally reaches her, and she gasps as a warm buzzing fills her head.

“It’s just some nanogenes,” he assures, patting her knee. “Need to clear out the scar tissue. Didn’t want them to fix the external scarring, they tend to itch.”

She attempts a smile. “Not going to have a gas mask at the end, am I?” She tries, but fails to keep the tremor from her voice as her hand covers his on her knee.

“Wouldn’t let that happen.” He weaves their fingers together as the lights continue to dance in the darkness.

When the last light flickers out, he squeezes her fingers before letting her hand go. “Open your eyes.”

Blinking is suddenly an easy process, like dancing without weighted shoes. Everything is sharply in focus, actually, better than she remembered. The console is all she sees in front of her as her eyes clear. Raising her hands, she covers either eye, testing her sight out of both. Her left eye had always been a little worse off than her right. She giggles, as now she can’t tell the difference.

And he’s no longer in front of her. He’s standing to her right, hands shoved into his pockets, rocking on his heels.

Though he isn’t smiling, his eyes are soft as she focuses on his face. “Better?” 

She sniffs, blinking to clear sudden tears. “Better.”

He shifts his weight. “Right, well…”

Just as she says, “Doctor…”

They look at each other for a second before each looks away, him tucking his chin, and her letting out a rough chuckle at the awkwardness.

She hears his sharp intake of breath and looks up. He’s rubbing the back of his neck, eyes unfocused. “C’mon, we’d better get this over with.”

“Right.” She looks down to her hands, where she’s picking at her nails. “Look, Doctor, I know that it wasn’t you, but…”

“Sorry?” She looks up, as his voice seems far away. He’s standing at the TARDIS doors, shrugging on his long coat. “Aren’t you coming?”

She stands to her feet. “Where are we going?” she asks confusedly.

He straightens the collar. “To deal with the villagers?”

She nears his side. “Ah. Yes.” Not going to talk about _that_ yet, then. “What _are_ we going to do about them?”

He bites the inside of his cheek for a second before answering, “Well, I feel a few things need answering. Like where the watch was. We should also check on the boy.”

“You mean Isaac?” She pauses, the correction sounding too familiar.

He tugs on his ear, eyes straying to the ceiling. “Right, of course.”

She nods, adjusting the hem of her top. “And what of him?”

“Not sure. Depends.”  He looks at her, finally. “I don’t think that he meant to do it. We need to find out if it was the Family or something else that caused it. Try to get him some help at the very least.” 

She hopes he didn’t notice her involuntary shiver. “Are they still out there?”

“No.  Scanned for them while you were in the bath.”

“Good,” she says firmly.

His mouth moves as if he is about to speak, but he shakes his head as if thinking better of it. “Right then.” He goes to open the TARDIS doors, and she leans an arm against them. He turns questioningly towards her.

Rose allows herself a moment to take in every freckle, every crinkle, every bit of the face that she hasn’t seen so clearly for longer than she cares to think about.

A piece of her, though she is loath to admit it, also wants to mourn the fact that John Smith seems to be truly gone.

Throwing her arms about his neck, she presses her nose into his collar, taking in the familiar smell that was uniquely his. His arms slowly rise, wrapping around her back, holding her firmly but not pulling her closer.

She tilts her chin up to rest on his shoulder. “I’m glad you’re back,” she whispers. 

“Yeah.” His arms fall first, hands immediately going into the pockets of his long coat. He nods once before opening the TARDIS door. “Let’s go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is a rewrite/combo of HN/FoB and the movie The Village.


	18. this protector

The woods are dark, almost too dark, but the Doctor unerringly traverses them. Rose holds on to his hand, but no words are spoken as they near the village.

Their fingers aren’t laced. After noticing, she tries not to speculate what that means.

The village itself was silent. A few lights flick behind the bubbled glass windows of the houses, but most are dark, reflecting the waning moon’s light. He leads them behind the houses, seemingly trying to remain inconspicuous. When they hear the crunch of another’s step, he quickly pulls her in between the houses and into the commons area where they almost collide with Joan.

“J-John?” There’s a dull clang as she drops the lantern she’s been carrying. To Rose’s relief, it has just landed on its base, unharmed. She looks back to Joan, whose eyes are almost comically wide as she takes in the Doctor’s appearance. Her eyes briefly rest on Rose before returning to him. “What on earth…?”

The Doctor, without batting an eyelash says, “Joan, we need you to gather the elders. Quickly.”

Rose almost rolls her eyes at how callously oblivious he’s being to the other woman’s shock and clears her throat.

The Doctor looks back at her, and she raises her eyebrows. He sheepishly turns to Joan. “Ah, right. Sorry. Both healed up, and I will explain- _later_.” He takes a step closer to the woman, and she finally closes her mouth. “But please, Joan. We need to meet with them. Bring them to the meeting hall.”

Joan looks again to Rose, and she nods, trying to assure the woman. Joan clasps her hands together before looking down for her lantern. She shakily nods once before heading off toward an elder’s home. 

The Doctor grimly looks at Rose and then looks frantically off in Joan’s direction. “Wait!”

Joan just turns, not answering.

“Where did you find the watch?”

“Miriam said that Isaac had it,” she calls back before her light begins to fade into the distance.

Rose turns to the Doctor only to find his pallor gone ashen.

After a few moments of silence pass, Rose reaches out to grasp his elbow. “Doctor?”

He starts, his faraway eyes finally locking on hers.

She watches him a moment. “Are you all right?” 

Half-expecting a blithe answer, she is surprised when he just swallows and looks down. She turns so she is fully facing him, hesitatingly taking both of his hands.

The night air rustles his hair as he continues to look at the ground between them. As she goes to let his hands go, he whispers only two words- “My fault.”

Rose shakes her head. “What?”

“What Isaac did. It was my fault.”

Rose scrunches her nose up. “What are you talking about?”

The Doctor finally meets her gaze fully. “I know why Isaac did it. The watch.”

“How could the watch make it happen?”

“Well-“ He runs a hand through his hair. “Isaac doesn’t have the necessary filters. We all perceive the world a little differently, because everyone’s brain chemistry works differently. But Isaac processes the world around him in a unique way without…outside influence.”

Rose cocks her head to the side. “What do you mean ‘outside influence’?”

The Doctor scuffs his trainer in the dust. He looks up over her head, his throat working as his eyes dart about the skyline. “The watch was _me,_ Rose. Unfiltered. Who I am, the thoughts that cross my mind…” His eyes flash. “My memories. Feelings. The good ones, yes, but the anger, fear...the jealousy.”

She swallows.

“He couldn’t handle it. And they would have just amplified his own feelings.”

“But you…” she bites her lip, “you wouldn’t do something like that.”

His lips quirk in a sardonic smile. “Oh, wouldn’t I?” He sucks in air through his teeth before continuing, “Perhaps I wouldn’t actually follow through, but Rose, imagine every thought that has _ever_ crossed your mind being flung onto another person. Every bit of you. Even how you feel about yourself. But you’re not there to inhibit it. It would be overwhelming no matter who you were.”

She reaches forward as if to touch his arm, but he moves away infinitesimally. Her fingers twitch before she just lets it fall.

He sniffs. “Besides, isn’t it better that it wasn’t his fault? That he won’t remember it happening?” 

“What?”

“Oh, by that time he would have had too much contact with the watch to be fully aware of what was going on around him. Explains his behavior. Thus, he won’t be able to recollect the actual…deed.” 

She shifts her weight to the other foot, not sure exactly how she should be reacting. “What are we going to do about him, then?”

His expression hardens. “Isaac needs help. And we’re going to make sure he gets it.”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

When they made it to the meeting hall, the elders were already gathered. Rose grasps his arm before they go into the room.

“You know what century we’re actually in, yeah?”

He looks down with just a hint of exasperation. “’Course. Knew that from when I-”

She lets go of his coat-sleeve. “Right. Just wanted to make sure.” He opens the door to the hall to let them both in.

Several lanterns scattered around the room gave off warmth that wasn’t echoed in the faces that now looked upon them in shock and a bit of horror. Including Joan’s.

“Right then,” the Doctor says. “Yes, we’re not exactly what you thought; yes, we’re healed; and yes, we have things to say.” Rose stands to the side, allowing a little wave.

“What is the meaning of this?” Elder Brahme splutters. “Are you not the doctor we sent for?”

“Well, actually, if you consider the fact that-“ the Doctor begins.

Fearing that he was about to launch into a ramble, and wanting to get the hell out of Dodge, Rose interjects, “No, he’s not that kind of doctor.”

“Eh!” He turns on her, insulted. “I trained under Bell himself!”

“Not the time,” Rose hisses.

The Doctor looks about the room, as if noticing the attitudes of the people around him for the first time. “Ah, yes.” His gaze then narrows, the Oncoming Storm slowly building behind his eyes. “No, we crashed inside your little…compound. And I had a nasty case of…amnesia.” His eyes tighten. “Not anymore.”

Elder Adams, a reedy man with a matching voice, pipes up, “But that’s impossible!”

“Not for my ship,” the Doctor’s chest puffed the least bit. “But you needn’t worry about it happening again. Now,” he draws out the word, “let’s get to the matters at hand. We’re not going to wreck your little social project with our sticky fingers and too much glitter, if that’s your main concern.” The elders’ shoulders visibly slump. Joan is still standing board-rigid, hands folded in front of her.

“However,” the Doctor says rather louder, “there is the little matter of Isaac.”

“The boy is unwell,” Joan says, voice monotone.

The Doctor looks at her briefly, tongue resting against his top teeth. “But you have the resources to get him the help he needs.”

“But it would compromise-“ Elder Brahme starts.

“Do not begin to justify your treatment of that boy.” The Doctor’s voice had gone very, very quiet. 

Not content to let the Doctor to be the only one to handle it, Rose adds, “Not to mention the fact that there are ways for you to get him help. The census? It’s not like you all couldn’t have them send in what Isaac needs then.” Upon seeing their shocked and abashed faces, Rose continues, “I know about the census. Someone has to report, right? The things you find out from the outside world. At least I was able to make it back in,” she drops her false cheeriness, “no thanks to you lot.”

The Doctor looks at her for a second, proudly, before starting in again. “Anyway, we don’t want to be here any longer than you want us to be here, so you don’t have to worry about that, either. But know this,” he pointed out the door, “I will make sure this little experiment ends if you do not help Isaac.”

“But he’s a danger,” Elder McCoy’s quiet voice comes through. “To himself and now to others.”

“No. He’s not.” The Doctor says, his voice tinged with frustration. “He had a reaction to,” Rose looks up at him, noticing the tightness forming around his eyes, “to an outside force that was brought in when we came. It’s already gone. No worries of it returning.”

Rose wants to take his hand, but both are shoved deeply into his pockets.

The leader of the Elders speaks up. “You are positive?”

The Doctor steps forward to the stunned group, standing almost nose-to-nose with Elder Brahme. “What benefit would it be to me to lie to you?” When Elder Brahme doesn’t respond, he adds, “Do we have your word?”

The man doesn’t flinch, much to Rose’s surprise. The softness of his, “Yes,” is the only indicator that this whole ordeal has affected him.

The Doctor nods once. “See that you do.” He casts his eyes about the room. “Yes, well, now we’ll be off. Thanks for the experience, but we really must run. We’ll get my things and be out of your hair momentarily. C’mon, Rose.”

Rose wiggles her fingers a little in goodbye before darting out the door.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Whenever she leaves the porch of the town hall, Rose lets out a breath she doesn’t know she is holding. The Doctor is standing in the grass, eyes upturned to the harvest moon. His skin has a bluish hue in the light, making him seem otherworldly even to her.

As she nears, he inhales sharply before turning to her. “We best be getting our things.”

Rose nods. She’s just as eager to get out of this place. She falls into step behind him and suddenly feels…itchy. Like there’s something she’s forgetting. She shrugs off the feeling, much like déjà vu, until pass by the Murray’s house and she pauses. “Wait.”

The Doctor stops and turns back. “Hmm?”

She began to pick at her fingernails but was quite proud of herself for keeping eye contact. “Should we go…explain what happened to the Murrays?” 

The Doctor looks at her for a long moment before he nods, albeit slowly. “They should know. However, I don’t know that I should…”

“I’ll be fine,” she says hastily. “I’ll only be a mo.’”

He nods again. “Just come up to the house when you’re finished.”

“All right.”

Rose watches him shove his hands into his pockets and start off in the direction of…Doctor Smith’s house. Pulling in a breath to steady herself, she squares her shoulders and climbs the stairs to the porch and reaches out to knock on the door.

After a few quick raps, Miriam Murray is standing right before her, eyes wide with surprise and not a little fear. “R-rose?" 

“Hello, Miriam.” Rose tries to smile as reassuringly as possible. “Can I come in?”

“Your face!” Miriam gasps.

“I’ll explain.” Rose assures the woman, shifting her weight to the other foot.

Miriam looks back quickly, her face unsure.  “Well, I-”

“I don’t mean any harm to Isaac, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Rose lifts both palms in a conciliatory gesture. “Actually, I just want to speak to you.” 

Miriam nods once, opening the door wider and inclining her head toward the parlor. “We can talk in there.”

“Thanks,” Rose follows the woman into a sparsely furnished but clean room and takes a chair opposite the one Miriam takes.

“The Doctor,” Rose begins and realizes the mistake, “I mean, Dr. Smith, he’s all right. He’ll make it through without a hitch.” 

“Thank God.” Miriam says sincerely. “I don’t know what I…” She folds and refolds the handkerchief she is holding, not looking up at Rose. “I mean, I can’t even begin to apolo-”

“No, please,” Rose interrupts. “He’s going to be absolutely fine.”

The other woman’s lips tremble.

 “I came to tell you something.” Rose hopes that the explanation she’s about to give will suffice. “The Doctor and I, well, we’re not from around here. Our ship crashed here, and he had…amnesia that made him think that he had been sent for because he is a doctor…of sorts. And I had been hurt and a was a bit…out of it.” And here came the hard part. “Isaac has been acting differently since we came, hasn’t he?”

“Yes,” Miriam said quietly. “Ever since he found you.”

Rose lets out a breath. “That’s because it was the watch.”

The woman’s eyes narrow in confusion. “Of what are you speaking?”

 _Tread lightly, Tyler_. “There was this…entity in that watch that he found. It came with us, but I had no idea that it had been lost.”

Miriam’s face is frozen in disbelief.

“He’s been back to normal, hasn’t he? Does he even remember what happened?”

Miriam can only nod, a hand over her mouth. “I couldn’t believe that he had no remembrance, but I’m thankful, perhaps selfishly. He doesn’t even remember _you_.” Rose nods. It’s for the best. “My boy may have trouble controlling some impulses, but I never believed…” Tears began to flow freely down her face.

Rose keeps her distance, stifling the impulse to hold her. “It wasn’t his fault, Miriam. And it won’t happen again. It’s gone for good.”

After regaining her composure, Miriam finally seems to notice Rose’s attire. “You’re leaving now, aren’t you?”

“Yeah.” She shrugs. “It was an accident that we even came here.” She notes Miriam staring at her eyes, and her hand instinctually rises to touch the skin around her eyes. “Our ship was able to provide quick treatment.”

“You were a beautiful girl even with the injury, Rose.” Rose tucks a bit of hair behind her ear bashfully as Miriam continues, “You were always so kind to my boy.”

“He’s very sweet,” Rose smiles. “And a good friend when I was alone.” She looks up towards the stairwell where she knew Isaac’s room was. “It’s best that I don’t see him again. I’m sorry for that.”

“Yes,” Miriam agrees. A slightly awkward silence descends before Miriam asks, “Do you think,” she leans forward, face earnest, “do you all perhaps have medicine that we could use for Isaac?”

“No.” At Rose’s words, Miriam’s face falls. “But we did have the other elders promise that they would get him medicine with the next census. The Doctor assured them of Isaac’s innocence in all of this. Everything should go back to normal. Better, hopefully.”

A single tear falls down Miriam’s cheek. “How can I…how can I even begin to thank…?”

Rose quickly goes to the woman, hugging her about the shoulders. “No, we’re just sorry that this whole mess happened.” She gently rocks the woman who was now crying again. Rose is blinking back her own tears. “You can’t imagine how much.” 

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Rose soon leaves and practically runs to what used to be Dr. Smith’s house.

She’s just ready to get out of here.

The door is standing wide open, a few stray lights flickering inside. The Doctor must still be gathering things he didn’t want left there. Was there anything that she wanted? She didn’t acquire anything to speak of…except the cane.

She’s about to go inside the house when she sees that her cane is leaning against the outside wall on the porch. Not clear on the past few days, months if she were honest, she doesn’t remember where she had left it.  But it must have been there. Rose picks it up and looks at the carving that she’s only been able to see blurrily. It was obviously painstakingly made- Dr. Smith must have spent _hours_. 

And at the thought of…him, she has to swallow past the lump in her throat. 

Rose’s hand is on the jamb of the front door when she realizes that the Doctor isn’t alone. She soon realizes that the other voice belongs to Joan.  Not wanting to disturb, but too curious to not try to hear their interaction, Rose creeps closer to the voices emerging from the study.

“…so you weren’t,” Joan’s voice pauses, “you weren’t yourself.”

Rose can barely hear the Doctor say, “Not exactly.”

“But you and Rose…you knew each other before?”

“Yes.”

Rose leans against the wood paneling. She really _should_ let them know she is here, and as much as she’s probably going to regret it, she can’t help but want to know where this conversation is going.

“Were you together?”

Rose stifles a gasp at the direct question. She feels like her heart has lodged itself firmly in her throat. No response comes, and it is several torturous moments before she hears Joan say, “She braved that forest alone for you. The woman couldn’t see, but she didn’t hesitate.”

“Only travel with the best,” the Doctor’s voice sounds a bit too cheerful.

Joan hums in non-committed fashion. “She shouldn’t have been able to get back in if the Elders had requested it. It should have been impossible.” 

Rose bites her lip.

“Perhaps.” The Doctor sounds not a little reluctant.

“Whether you want to acknowledge it or not, Doctor, the world moves for love.” Joan’s voice takes on a tremor. “It kneels before it in awe.”

Rose can’t breathe.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve seen the kind of love that she has for you.” Rose wishes she could leave, but her feet are firmly rooted to their current spot. “And the way you looked at her while suffering that…amnesia? I had forgotten the demeanor of a truly besotted man.” Joan’s voice is very thick now. “And even now you look like you’d rip the universe apart trying to protect her.” Joan clears her throat. “I know what it’s like to lose that- so I beg of you, don’t throw it away while you still have it.”

After a beat, Rose hears what sounds like a quick kiss, and Joan saying, “Goodbye.”

“Goodbye, Joan. Thank you,” the Doctor says, voice barely audible.

Rose wipes hurriedly at the tears that she didn’t realize had fallen as she hears the nurse’s quick step near her. As the woman rounds the doorway, she stops, face hidden as the silhouette of light was to her back. After a brief moment, Joan extends her hand. “I wish you well, Rose Tyler.”

“You too.”

Joan quickly brushes past her and out the door into the night.

Rose closes her eyes briefly, leaning her head back against the wall. She had to face him sometime.

She enters the study to see him facing the bookcase, fingers lightly tripping along the spines of the books.

A creak of the wood beneath her feet alerts him to her presence. He turns, his eyes wide but his face still blank. He blinks and then asks, “You ready?”

She bites her lip before nodding. He walks forward and takes her hand, leading her out of the house and out of the village.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The walk to the TARDIS was relatively silent, each not quite ready to deal with everything. They enter the TARDIS, and the Doctor immediately heads to the console, flipping switches. The familiar grinding of the TARDIS fills the air, and Rose knows through the sequence of levers that he’s just taken them into the Vortex.

He hasn’t looked up to her yet.

If they don’t address this now, they never will.

He’s still focused on the screen in front of him when she comes to stand right behind him, effectively cutting off any escape.

“Doctor, we have to talk. Now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quote comes from the movie _The Village_.


	19. the denial twist

Rose straightens her shoulders, gathering her courage and her thoughts.  Talking stuff over is the Doctor’s kryptonite, she knows, but there’s stuff that they just have to--

The Doctor spins around suddenly, and before Rose can even glance at his face, he is snogging her.

It’s quick and hard, and the shock of it has her stumbling back, only to be caught by his hand pressed between her shoulder blades.  His mouth is busy against hers, insistent, his tongue already making overtures at the seam of her lips, and for a moment, all she can do is cope.  All she can do is kiss back, the shape of his mouth so familiar even though the taste isn’t, not at all, except in some vague half-memory full of hospital smells and cat-nuns and the time the surprise kissing shoe was on the other foot.

On her back, his fingers are curling into a fist, clutching her shirt.  The other one, the one that’s gently threading itself into her hair, trembles just a bit.  It’s good, really good, and everything she wants, but.

It’s not what she needs.

With a wet, smacking sound, she pulls her mouth away from his, and for a moment, his lips chase after hers.  The heady rush of that alone is nearly enough to distract her from her objective, which is distance, she’s pretty sure.  Right--distance, perspective, clear-headedness, that’s what’s needed here.

Unbidden, her tongue darts out and licks the taste of him off the edge of her lips.

“You just...I…”  She shakes her head, trying to clear it, and wipes the heel of her hand against the corner of her mouth.  “What the hell are you doing?”

The Doctor blinks, one eye slightly before the other, with a small head shake. His eyes trace each part of her face, mouth working soundlessly, before he leans his forehead against hers.

“We’re not just gonna...snog this out, okay?” she says and then feels ridiculous.  “There are things I need to know.  You, um.”  Pausing, she tilts her head, pulls back enough to see his eyes.  “You remember everything, yeah?  Being John Smith?”  

“Yes.”

“But,” she swallows, “that wasn’t you, because you were in the watch.  John Smith was just a...a place-filler?”

“No.” The Doctor seems to realize that he’s still holding her about the waist, and lets his arms fall. And takes a step back for good measure, tugging on his ear. “Not exactly. I mean, yes, the essence of me was in the watch, but it wasn’t necessarily all of me, because you know that I wouldn’t be able to run even a human body on minimal capacity.” He begins edging around the console, his hand gestures slowly picking up speed and arc.

“And frankly, though the TARDIS may be the most magnificent machine in the universe, and the chameleon arch the height of development, she’s not capable of completely rewriting the brain. Especially when dealing with time sensitives.”

His voice gets a bit squeaky, despite his best attempts at masking the fact. “Where humans are only capable of one personality that remains at the basest level unchanged, Time Lords have multiple capabilities. But even they have limits. Wonderful thing, brains. Humans never quite learn how to tap into their potential. Quite honestly, the Time Lords didn’t either, but we were always a few leaps and bounds ahead. But there’s always a bit of the person in there. You know, Time Lords are all ambidextrously-brained? Would make it difficult if you were inclined to do something in one incarnation, but unable to do it because of a little problem in your physio-”

“‘Kay,” she says, cutting him off.  “So it was a little bit you and a little bit not-you.”

“Welllll-” he rubs his hand on the back of his neck. “The TARDIS gave me a history. A little bit of a fib mixed with some truth. Easier to keep things straight.”

“And that’s why he was John Smith from the Powell Estate, yeah?”

His cheeks take on an endearing pink tinge, and he clears his throat. “Yeah.”

Rose bites her thumbnail, thinking back over what she knew of John Smith’s personal history.  “So how much was true?”

His tongue rests on the back of his front teeth for a moment. It’s like he’s deciding what’s safe- what path has the least landmines. “You know most of the details and their origins. The Powell Estate was a way for the TARDIS to let you know that it was me, I suppose.”

The question that she doesn’t quite want to ask is right there on the tip of her tongue.  The TARDIS hadn’t just been name-dropping--the unfinished tale of the lost love, the one he’d had to leave behind, never to be mentioned again--the whole thing smacks of the Doctor and his past.  Rose had always shied away from questioning John Smith about it because it seemed to make him uncomfortable but also because it’d felt like an invasion of the Doctor’s privacy.  It’s just, now that he’s said that bit about the TARDIS leaving her hints, she’s wondering if it hadn’t been meant as a reminder.  The Doctor doesn’t do that sort of thing, at least not with companions.  At least not with her.

Yeah, pretty much failed to get the memo on that one.

“So,” she says slowly, awkwardly, “the um.  The woman you- _he_ \- said he’d loved.  That would be your…?”

His eyes unfocus before he blinks suddenly. “My...who?”

Rose blinks back at him.  “Your wife.”

She might as well have slapped him, for the look of shock that’s on his face. He turns around for a second before turning back to her. “No. We weren’t-” He shoves his hands in his pockets. “It wasn’t like that.”

“Oh.”  She doesn’t know what to say.

When she stays silent, he reluctantly continues, “Time Lords might have been advanced in almost every other way, but when it came to social conventions, you might have found us...cold. Aloof. Matches were more political, and...genetically driven than based upon actual affection.”

“Oh,” she repeats.  The idea of him being in a political marriage is startling, opposite everything she knows about him, and she’s having a hard time reconciling it with the man in front of her.  No wonder he ran away. Part of her heart breaks a little at that, trying to imagine him as part of something that sounds so soulless.  So empty.  

The instinct to reach out, touch him, hold him, is strong, but if she gives in, he’ll withdraw again.  She’s sure of it.  

“So, um, that’s not it then,” she says, trying to decide how to phrase her next question.  “Was that bit just part of the fib?”

He ducks, hiding his face, fiddling with a couple of controls in front of him. “Eh? Must have been. I suppose it was, yes.”

“What d’you mean, ‘suppose,’” she says, frustrated.  “It either was or it wasn’t.  Was there,” she swallows, “somebody else that was meant to be?”

She walks up and stands right in front of him, face right below his so he can’t look away.  She’s so used to letting him avoid these subjects that it’s almost second-nature, but she needs this answered.  John Smith shook apart their carefully platonic house of cards, and she’d let him.  Even knowing everything she did about the Doctor, she’d let him.  And she knows, she understands he has his limits, and that’s...that’s fine.  She can live with that.  It’s just that, if there was somebody else, a Sarah Jane or a Lynda-with-a-Y or a...a Reinette, she needs to hear it from him.  If only so that she can start to reorder her heart.

“Doctor,” she prompts.

He looks every bit of his 900-plus years. “What are you really asking, Rose?”

“Who was she?”

His throat makes a soft click as he swallows, eyes looking everywhere about the console room but her. “You.”

She looks at him blankly.  “Me.”

He nods, still not quite meeting her face, which she’s sure is completely flabbergasted.

“Me,” she repeats.  “The girl’s me.”  She shakes her head a little.  “You left her behind.  In your story, she gets left behind.”

“She was lost, not left behind.”

She takes a chance, reaching for his hand.  “‘M not going anywhere, Doctor.”

He looks down to their hands and intertwines their fingers. Her thumb brushes over top of his, and he looks back up at her. “But you will. One day.” He drops her hand and leans both of his hands on the console, bowing his head down between his arms before shoving himself back up. “But no need rehashing the ‘Curse of the Time Lords’ stuff.” He sniffs. “Should we go back to London? I’m sure you’re ready to see your mother.”

It’s almost tempting to say yes, to go back to the standard procedure.  They’ll hold hands as they walk through the Powell Estate and see her mum and get chips and never, ever talk about it again.  It’s safe.  It’s smart.

But that doesn’t stop the words coming out of her mouth.  “Don’t say that.  Just don’t.  We’re not setting this aside.  You can’t snog me one minute and mope the next, then ask to pretend like none of it happened.”

The Doctor sits heavily on the jumpseat, elbows on knees, hands clasped in front of him. After several long seconds of silence, he looks up at her. Tired. “What do you want me to say, Rose?”

“I want you to explain.  I still remember only part of how we even ended up here--what was the plan?  And then, with all that happened between us…”  She stops, almost loses her nerve, but it’s time to take the plunge.  “I mean, John Smith.  He was in...in love with me.  Doctor,” she catches his gaze, holds it, “I need to know where he stops and you begin.”

He looks at her, jaw working before he runs a hand down his face. “The original plan was to land in the actual 1873. But then the TARDIS was attacked by the Family, and she must have been thrown off-course, hit a couple of time skips, since we didn’t arrive at the same time. The plan was to land, and I’d be hidden as a human. The Family would have died off after a few months- no blood, no foul. You would open the watch and presto.”

“But instead we ended up in Alfred Hitchcock wonderland.”

“Exactly.” He looks as if he’s debating for a second before he tentatively reaches forward for her hand. “I’m so sorry about...what happened. I wasn’t there for you.”

“Doesn’t matter.”  But she lets him take her hand, slip their fingers into a familiar hold.  “And, um.  And the rest?”

“Right.” He lets out a breath, a small half-smile gracing his face for the first time since they returned to the TARDIS. “No chance we can skip that part?”

She looks at him, waits a beat.  “Not if you want to kiss me again.”

His eyes widen, and he visibly swallows.

“I dunno,” she adds.  “Maybe you don’t.”

His eyes then narrow, on to her game. “Why don’t you just ask specifically what you want to know.”

“Fine.  Why did you kiss me just now?”

“Because I wasn’t sure that I would have a chance to again.” He scoffs, self-deprecatingly. “ _Carpe diem_.”

“What d’you mean?”  She pulls back, suspicious.  “You’re not leaving me behind.”

“What if what I have to offer you isn’t enough anymore?” Rose goes to refute his claims, but he waves a hand, cutting her off. “Don’t. I was there, remember?”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“You weren’t exactly kicking John Smith to the kerb, as it were.”

Her jaw drops.  “Is that what you think?”

“Why not?” He sighs, closing his eyes for a second, collecting himself. “Rose. There have been few that have come with me that have- taken to my life as much as you. Hell, half the time I think if you could pilot her yourself, you’d drop _me_ off now and again.”  His upturned lips fall. “But you’re right- we can’t act like this didn’t happen. But that doesn’t only go for me.”

“You think I’d choose him over you?”  She makes a noise of frustration.  “That doesn’t even make any sense.  One minute you tell me he is you, sort of, and the next you’re what, jealous?”

“No, I mean-” He leans back, shaking his head. “I suppose you could frame it that way. But it’s not jealous of _him_ as much as realizing there was something about him that obviously appealed to you. And it’s the _why_. The fact that it was me is not the issue.”

“This is some sort of domestics thing, isn’t it?  Oh, Rose lived in a house with doors for a few months, obviously she’s gonna want to get new carpets and to start reupholstering the furniture.”  She crosses her arms, glaring.  “You’re such a bloody wanker.”

“It’s not that.” The TARDIS refuses to translate the next couple of words. “...you can’t tell me that there wasn’t something about the _man_ that didn’t appeal to you- whether or not you want to admit that there are certain aspects of that life that you want!”

“Didn’t have a lot of choice, though, did I?”

He turns around, shaking his head. Then, his squares his shoulders, turning back around. He asks, voice low, “When did you find the watch?”

“I--”  She drops her eyes.  “Yeah, alright, I waited.  Two days.”

It definitely isn’t triumph on his face.

“But,” she continues, “but it wasn’t that I didn’t want you back, or didn’t want this life back.  And it’s not fair of you to use it like that.  I didn’t know _what_ would happen.  And yeah, John Smith, I…”  She closes her eyes.  “It was easy.  I knew what he thought.  What he felt.”  Opening them again, she looks straight at him.  “But I’d never pick him over you.”

He comes forward, taking both of her hands. “Then why did you keep your distance once I came back?”

“Why did you?”

“The first thing I did was snog you!”

“The first thing you did was run off for the TARDIS,” she protests.

“Rose,” he says, slightly patronizingly. “I was back the _millisecond_ the watch was opened.”

It takes her a moment to understand, to place the instant she heard that click into the context of her memory.  John Smith had been kissing her goodbye, and then the Doctor had bounded up, but...  Wait, no.  The watch had opened early on, at the beginning, so...ah.  

That had been the Doctor sticking his tongue in her mouth.  

Her cheeks go pink as the realization dawns, and almost involuntarily, a smile spreads across her face.  

He smiles in return, almost bashfully. “So- yeah.” He clears his throat. “But we haven’t cleared up the matter. That is, the fact of him being more...open? I know that I haven’t- but I would think, you know, because you’re so brilliant, and you always see right through to the centre of the matter, that you would just _know_. That there couldn’t be any way that you _didn’t_ know-”

“Doctor,” she interrupts him, putting a stop to the torrent of words by placing her hands on his cheeks.  

For just a moment, she lets them rest there, her eyes locked on his.  He’d told her, in some ramble ages ago, about Time Lords having the ability to slow time, stretch it out, and she thinks she knows what that must feel like, here and now with his face cupped gently between her fingers.  

Slowly, she shifts them, tracing the lines of his cheekbones, mapping the planes of his face just as she had before.  His eyelids flutter closed as she reaches the corner of his eyes, and his head drops, giving her easier access to his eyebrows, forehead.  She follows the slight creases, lets one index finger slide down the bridge of his nose.  It slips right off the tip and lands on his lips, soft and slightly parted.  Leaning in closer, she can feel each exhale on her own face, feels his warm breath washing over her lips as she lifts her chin.

“Rose?” he rasps, his hands finding her shoulders, her neck.

“Yeah?”

“It doesn’t matter what incarnation I am in-” He rubs his thumbs gently behind her ears, his face earnest. “You always fancy me.” He leans in and captures her lips before she’s able to respond.

Her mouth drops open at that, and why yes, that’s the Doctor’s tongue in her mouth again.  “You!” she splutters somewhat incoherently, pushing him back in an effort to stop the kiss.  “You tosser!”

He hums happily- definitely unrepentant- and threads his fingers into her hair, kissing her again.

“Fine,” she huffs in between kisses, “but if you’re not going to say it...I’m not saying it either.”

He nips at her bottom lip before leaning back with a cocky grin. “Is that a threat...or a wager?”

Her eyes narrow.  “‘M not betting with you again.  You still owe me ten quid.”

"Double or nothing?”

She looks him over in mock-scrutiny.  His face is alight with happiness--and obvious overconfidence, because she’s pretty sure she can break him.  But mostly, he looks open, like something has finally given way at last.  Like he’s lain down that last bit of armor.  So she doesn’t say the words that are just there, thrumming under her skin.  Beautiful and unnecessary.

Tongue peeking out of the corner of her mouth, she grins. “Done.”


	20. epilogue: prickly thorn, but sweetly worn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few years into the future...

_...right._

_She won’t be up until…6:40. An hour. Her phone will go off, and then she’ll stretch to smack at the screen, and her hand will bump it._

_Perfect._

He adjusts the small piece of driftwood on the nightstand for the   _little to the right_  last time. Sniffing in approval, he goes to back away quietly but notices that she might knock it off the table when she reaches across. 

Not good. 

Maybe on the other side of the phone? Yes. By her glass of water. She’ll pick it up to take to the loo, and then she’ll see it, and she’ll-

“Doctor?”

Rose sleepily pushes her hair out of her face, squinting up at him. “Whataya doin’?” 

“Nothing.” He helps her by gently brushing the hair back from her forehead. “Go back to sleep.”

She yawns, blinking several times, before burrowing her head back into her pillow.

Good. 

He’s nigh to the stairs when her voice calls from the room- “What’s this?”

He’d _almost_ made it.

“Doctor?” 

Best go back.

A slow breath out, and one foot in front of the other. As he rounds the door, he sees her scooting up, reaching for the table lamp. 

“What is this?” Her voice is quiet, and a little bemused.

“It’s a-“ He scratches at the back of his neck, looking the chip of paint on the wall that he really should fix, but she hasn’t looked up at him yet, and...oh. “It’s a little thing I’d been carrying around.”

“It’s driftwood.” 

She pauses and turns it over it her hands- she’d probably noticed as her fingertips caught on the grooves.  She looks up at him, finally. She’s got that crinkle above her nose. That small one that means that she’s about to figure something out. 

Clever girl. 

She looks back at the etching before lifting her eyes to his again. “With a rose carved on it.”

“Yep.”

“Where-?” She’s looking down again, not exactly pleased, and it’s definitely starting to seem that this is all potentially going into the Not Good category. Must fix it.  
  


“It’s nothing. Just a bit from the beach that day that we- I just. I mean, I know that day wasn’t the best of days but…we were together. And it didn’t matter what the next day would bring because you would still be there. I know, it’s rubbish, but I’d been carrying that to remind me. When the students would get unruly, when the paperwork piled, or when the room got too tight, I’d just- I’d hold it and remember that you and I were in the same universe, you know? But then…things got better, and I don’t really need it anymore.” 

He didn’t even notice that his eyes had closed until now.

A small hand brushes across his torso, grasping at the wool material of his jacket. Drawing him closer. He opens his eyes to see Rose kneeling on the bed in front of him, eyes shining and a smile playing at her lips.

Good.

She draws him closer by hooking her fingers in his belt loops. “And the rose?”

He ducks his head. “The grain looked as if it were going a certain way, and I had a pocket knife on hand.”

“Mmm.” She leans over, tilting her head underneath his so he can’t avoid her gaze. “Not going for the nostalgia to get me to forgive you for bringing up our old bet yesterday, eh?” Her smile is that of the cat that not only got the cream, but also made sure to knock the rest of the bottle off the table.

“What?” he splutters. “I’ll have you know that it takes a while, Rose Tyler, for such fine craftsmanship!”

Her smile softens before she leans her face into his chest, wrapping her arms fully around his back. “I seem to recall it only takes a night,” she says into his shirt.

“Well,” his arms finally move to envelop her, “this time took a bit more. Smaller than a cane. And besides-” he lifts his hands to her face, gently cupping her cheeks. “I shouldn’t need to be forgiven. I won the bet fair and square.” He leans in quickly; trying to cut off any arguments that he probably wouldn’t have a prayer of winning.

The bite on his lower lip is a little harder than normal. 

Okay, she probably drew some blood. “Oi!” He leans back quickly, fingers dabbing gingerly at the tender spot. 

“Serves you right.” 

She’s sitting back on the bed, cross-legged, and he moves to sit beside her. Maybe a little farther away, lest she enact some other punishment.

Not that he’d mind, but- 

Focus.

“Rose, I-” How to say without mucking it up further? “I really shouldn’t have…”

“Brought that up?” 

He shrugs, absently twisting the ring on his left hand. “I thought that we’d...enough time had passed, and...” He lets out a breath, not quite a laugh. “I suppose I wasn’t really thinking.”

A rustle, and she’s closer. Better. She rests her chin on his arm. “You _really_ weren’t.” Her head tilts, and he’s not going to open his gob again and ruin this. He’ll wait. Her eyes dart back and forth between his before she finally continues, “But I suppose that you did win, fair and square.”

Her eyes are sparkling, but he isn’t sure what she’s playing at now. “That so?” He carefully keeps his hands to himself.

“Mmhmm.” She pushes on his shoulders, and he complies with her wishes, lying back on the bed with her hovering over him. Liking this turn of events probably a little more than he should. The sunrise from the window is now lighting on her hair, catching it gold and fire, a faint echo of her splendor as- focus. She wets her lips, and he struggles to not stare and attempts to listen to what’s she’s saying…

“-to repay you?”

“Huh?” He winces at his utter lack of ability to hide how she so thoroughly has driven him to distraction. 

Only a tiny twinge of her lips, and she repeats, “And how am I ever supposed to repay you?” She is close enough to him in every way that he can feel the warmth of her body. _Everywhere_ , but she’s still not touching him at all. 

Maddeningly so. 

“I believe it was supposed to be twenty pounds,” he says, wishing he didn’t sound so out of breath. 

“Mm,” she hums, coolly assessing him. Still not bloody touching him. Then, she’s leaning closer, her lips not but a breath from his. “Sure we can’t renegotiate those terms?”

Her lips capture his upper lip- _how much was he gaping at her?_ -and move to his bottom lip before he’s pulled her on top of him, every inch of her against every inch of him.

And it would be so easy to just let this be it. Take her forgiveness and run.

But he can’t.

“Perhaps.” He wants to give in to this, every fiber of this hybrid body screaming for it, but he can’t let it lie. “But I should have lost that day.” 

She shifts back in confusion. “What?”

“I shouldn’t have rested on the fact that I thought you _knew_. That the words themselves weren’t necessary.  And I wish I hadn’t. And I know I still don’t say it as I should.” She’s resting on her elbows above him, her hair a curtain keep him from looking anywhere but her face. “I love you.”

She snorts lightly, her eyes shining. “And I love you back, you git.”

His hand moulds to her cheek.  For a brief moment his thumb rubs over the softness, before bringing her down for a kiss. 

Which causes her to shift against him, making him gasp. 

Devilish is the only word that can describe her grin, and he knows he’s actually been forgiven. 

And he might as well take advantage of Rose Tyler’s good graces.

“Now, about that repayment…”

**Author's Note:**

>  _Disclaimer: We do not own_ Doctor Who _or its brilliant characters._
> 
>  
> 
> _All chapter titles taken from song titles by The White Stripes._


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